


the stars will lead us back to the start

by blueaurora



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Fluff, M/M, dont hate seonghwa please, for me is super angsty im just telling, futuristic things, growing up on space, if you miss some characters dont worry they will appear eventually, learning about life love and grieve, san has a lot of problems, this is angsty, totally made up universe, wooyoung is a total cute here im so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-11-01 01:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueaurora/pseuds/blueaurora
Summary: San knows nothing about love. But he knows a lot about loving Wooyoung.





	1. the loving

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know when it hit me that I needed woosan to fall in love in the space but here we are. The thing is, that I turned angstier than I thought.  
This is the first part of a serie, so please if you read until the end (i will love you forever) don't come for my neck (yet). I wanted this to be not another woosan fic, I wanted it to be a journey to learn about life, love and grief. On the space. As english is not my mother tongue, I don't know if I could deliver it well, but I hope everyone can enjoy this.  
I used a lot of rupi kaur poems, from Milk and Honey (read it if you live poetry) and this universe is totally made up, so it follows my own rules. I knows little about some topics displayed here, but please, they're not important (I quite know something about the limbic system, though).  
Also, please you can hate the characters if you want, but don't go hating on real persons. This is totally fiction, and even personalities are totally made up.
> 
> Okay now, enjoy reading this!!

\- 

_my favorite thing about you is your smell_

_you smell like_

_earth_

_herbs_

_gardens_

_a little more_

_human than the rest of us_

\- Milk and honey, rupi kaur, page 50.

–

Is somehow deep into the third week of May when the media finally decides to tell the terrible news to the rest of the New Moon. However, playing with the milk remaining from his cereal – spoon making a twist, clinking every time it touched the extremes of the bowl –, San doesn’t feel surprised because, in any way or another, he _knew_.

The king is dead.

He died peacefully on his bed last Wednesday due to a severe heart condition he didn’t want to say out loud to not worry anyone. San spits bullshit, rolling his eyes and walking to the TV, turning it off without using the remote.

The king was murdered.

San knows. If he was asked, a mic pressed to his mouth and a big number of high-quality cameras shooting at his face, he would have blurted the first words that made it to his mind with success and then ran away without giving a clear answer. Not because he hates being on the spotlight – well, maybe he does hate t a little – but because there’s not a clear answer to the question of _“You are assuring someone killed the King. How do you know? Do you have any evidence?”_ nor a safe answer.

Because San knows, and San was the one stealing the last breath of that old man.

Relax.

Things got weird, a little bit strange, when the new world sparked. The Earth as everyone knew it, from the books, the movies or even the splendid memories of the already death, was gone. Forever. The Earth died. Again, the smiley reporter would say it was because the expenses were reduced to zero, or because the moon disappeared on the big Meteor Shower. And again, San would whisper it’s all bullshit, as the humans were the one stealing the life of the Earth, condemning themselves to the worst of the worse.

The Earth got covered in a thick layer of ice, for years, just after everything got reduced to ashes thanks to the big fires that stole every drop of oxygen. It was quiet for years, decades, and even centuries. And it should had stay like that forever. With nothing but ice deserts, uncontrolled oceans, and no oxygen. But as Wooyoung loved to say, you can’t kill a plague, and humans were – and they will always be – the biggest plague that could attach to the Earth.

Before everything crashed, when the fire was licking every centimeter of the Earth’s superficial, someone started the Plan New Moon and dropped a spaceship out of the chaos. Only one thousand persons made it to the spaceship, one thousand out of billions. Everyone else died, and deep down, San whishes everyone stayed on Earth to die. Because he is here now, floating around on the space, created on a laboratory, and sharing his vision with another person.

A total murderer.

Plan New Moon wasn’t that complicated. As far as San knows, after the moon was reduced to nothing but tiny useless particles, the oceans got out of control. Scientist started studying a way of get the Earth back to his original form before the waters ate them all, and their first conclusion was to create a special station with the same measures, habilitated to follow the same cycle the moon did. And they got it: what San calls his home, the place where he was born, where he learned how to walk, talk and fight, is nothing but a big machine rotating over itself, and around a dead iced ball. It’s big enough to not get bored at all, but that doesn’t change the fact they’re on space. That the lights are never natural. That the oxygen, once again, is limited.

It’s been almost one hundred years since they installed there. The Plan New Moon failed, as the ones that stayed on Earth predicted. There was no salvation, everyone would end up dead, but as a plague, they had to reproduce first and fight back.

They call it the New Age, making it sound like they’re safe and sound, when San could hear the higher ranges discuss about what to do with the overpopulation. Food is rationed, oxygen is rationed, water is rationed, even kids are rationed. No one has other siblings that the ones on school. It’s always a mom, a dad and a child in a pod. Not even the king could have more than one kid. It’s ridiculous.

“My father had a dream,” says Seonghwa, the soon to be king, later the same day. San is watching the news because he doesn’t have anything more to do – he wanted to watch a movie, but since their _savior _died, every single channel is repeating the same thing. Seonghwa looks sad, but no as sad for a child that just lost the only parent he had left. San bites his thumb, tilting his head to one side. “He wanted the humanity to prosper, to make things better than our antecessors did. Even when he never put a foot on the Earth, my father talked about it as if he lived there. His dream was to come back, to live at fully, in the place we were born.”

San can’t help but felt nauseous at the lies slipping through his lips with such ease, almost as if he is believing everything. It’s a fake sadness, and San also knows that as the one giving the sharp order to kill the king, was no other but his only child: Park Seonghwa.

“My father is gone now, and in six weeks exactly I will be taking over his place. I hope we can make the best out of humanity.”

For the second time in the same day, San turns the TV off, bare feet breaking the dead silence of the pod, and walks to his room where he lays in bed. The clock marks 2 PM, making his stomach to automatically groan in need discomfort because, at the other side of the small window, it’s night.

It’s always night in the New Age.

Scientists worked a lot once the spaceship was launched into the space, and a lot more after they settled down on the New Moon. Their priority was to make humans stronger – or as San loves to say, play with humans as if they were nothing but bacteria, trying to make them antibiotic resistant, being the antibiotic nothing more but the Earth. As if humans weren’t destructive enough, they wanted to make them more voracious.

Their reason wasn’t logical at all: to come back into the Earth, they needed a new generation human race that could adapt to the changes on the planet. They wanted to keep on using something that was already dead, something they all killed. And that way, was how San, along with a lot of other children, was brought into the New Age.

The New Moon total capacity of people is of one hundred thousand people. Nothing more. Out of all that people, twenty hundred thousand babies where destined to the Sprout Plan.

Humans genetically modified, created inside a test tube, to the point of losing almost everything that made them humans, converting them into machines of flesh. Their brains work different, their bodies move different, and most importantly, their cells are prepared to work different. To adapt to the Earth, to _survive_. Their consume of oxygen is minim, as well as the food and water ones. They can say the Sprout Plan is the only one going according to their wishes.

Or, at least, the 80% of the plan is going according to their wishes.

When San was only five years old, sitting on the cold metallic table of the infirmary, bouncing his legs as the nurse took blood samples, he saw something. His right eye was looking at the white wall in front of him, only decorated by a shitty poster of how the Earth should regrowth – and how he (_he!_) was going to be one of the ones doing it –, but his left eye saw a woman. Long black hair and a beautiful smile. Tiny hands moving in the air, touching her cheeks. San didn’t know that woman at all, but that was the first and last time he saw her.

As the years passed, he got more and more images. At random times, getting darker and darker with every year passed. The memory of that woman being replaced by a man with ice on his eyes. His left eye lost all his color, nothing weird appearing on his clinical exam. _The cells died_, they said. _You don’t have to worry, it happens a lot._

San never told them, as he was kind of a failure for them – out of the twenty hundred thousand, they believed not more than one thousand would make it out perfect. But it was the perfect number to regrowth the Earth anyway. San enjoyed the mixed images on his brain, getting to know a person without a name, living on the same exact place as him, so far but so close. Just a kid like him.

And, also a murderer.

San feels a little disappointed the person he kind of grew up with through his left eye would end up being a murderer. Worse than that, a king murderer.

He hopes images of their day are the only things they can exchange, thinking on how disappointed he is at him for accepting Seonghwa’s dirty money. Or whatever.

Scientist made him in a way he could feel nothing. No emotions at all, yet he can’t help the wave of sadness that covers his body when he closes his eyes and tries to sleep that day away. He never told them about how he could feel, from time to time, orange bracelet already around his wrist. There’s no reason to tell them if he already failed.

San lives alone, but on the pod 235 – that is exactly next to his – lives Wooyoung.

Wooyoung is, just as him, another baby from the Sprout Project, and sometimes – and just sometimes – San finds himself laughing out loud, hands on his belly and lungs on fire, because Wooyoung really looks like a sprout. A tiny, sometimes mad sometimes way too excited sprout that loves to spend the free time with his face buried deep down a book. Wooyoung, again just like him, is a _useless_ sprout, having to spend the rest of his life in that special area of the New Moon where normal kids can’t break in. Not being able to complete their mission because their cells are not working at fully, but also not being able to have a normal life because, well, they are, and they will never be normal.

Wooyoung also has a tiny spread of blonde hair in the middle of the tangle of black hair that his head always is. His cells also died there, like San’s left eye, and sometimes he finds himself wondering if Wooyoung is able to hear a voice inside his head. Or if he is the only weird kid with half a brain that isn’t his. San also wonders if Wooyoung feels as much as he, or if he is just like Mingi – a perfect machine.

San likes Wooyoung.

He likes the way Wooyoung would drag his feet out of bed at exactly 4 PM every day, washing his teeth first and drinking a whole bottle of water then – the only time he drinks water. San can hear him, ear pressed to the wall, when he puts on his shoes and walks to the door. Thirty seconds later, he is knocking on San’s door and they’re both spending the afternoon together, trying to give their lives a spark of excitement.

Normally, Wooyoung reads for San.

Whatever book he is reading – or, more exactly, rereading –, some science journal he stole from the hospital on his last checkout, the ingredients of that bottle of soy sauce that has been years on San’s kitchen or the amazingly fake words of the King about the New Age. San is always laughing at that part. He loves the way Wooyoung’s voice sounds, how he stops at the right places or how he intonates. He could listen to him for years, or even centuries, just feeling like the world isn’t as bad if Wooyoung is there.

San would always find a way to tangle his arms around the other’s boy body, head resting on his chest and slowly falling asleep with the sound of his lazy heartbeats. It doesn’t matter the time of the day, because the days are just made up by a machine and the sky is always the same. There’s nothing that can confirm them that the days are passing, and life is moving forward. For the record, they could’ve been stuck on time for years, drifting without a destination. It could be the third week of May or May couldn’t even exist at all.

San doesn’t care about time and just falls asleep with Wooyoung beneath him.

When he wakes up, every single time, Wooyoung is already gone.

San wakes up abruptly with a loud knock on his door, eyes quickly squinting to the clock to see it’s 5 PM in the afternoon. He realizes he fell asleep at some point, feet meeting the cold floor when the second knock rumble in the small pod. As he opens the door, he yawns, eyes widening at the sight of sleepy Wooyoung in front of him, wearing pajamas and nothing more. He isn’t even wearing shoes.

“Good morning,” San greets him with a smile, bumbling with his own feet as he makes him room enough to walk inside the pod.

“Morning,” Wooyoung replies, jumping inside the room and only using his toes to walk around, spreading his arms like he is a kid, flying, or pretending to fly. It almost makes San shiver to think they are actually floating in a big mass of nothing. “I came earlier, but you weren’t answering. Did you have a bad sleep?”

Wooyoung crashes on the couch, sleeves covering both his arms and hands, making San smile at how cute he looks like that. He takes a sit next to him, taking his legs into his lap, caressing the skin of his feet. They’re cold. “I had a wonderful sleep time. But have you seen this morning news?”

“Do you mean every single channel?” Wooyoung snorts, throwing his head back. “Because I wanted to listen to music, but it was only Park Seonghwa, again and again, it was giving me a massive headache.”

They roll his eyes at the same time, Wooyoung sinking deeper on the couch. It’s then when San realizes he is not carrying any book or journal with him today, and for a second he wonders if it is because he fell asleep.

“What do you want to do today?” San asks instead, fingers drumming on the soft skin of his foot.

Normally, when they aren’t training, they are reading. To be honest, it’s been years since they trained together. Doctors told both of them it was not necessary anymore, that they were just as normal as any other human born from a mom and a dad. So, after years passed, San stopped doing it, only accompanying Mingi to the gym, then turning back. Wooyoung and Yunho liked to train together, but lately, Wooyoung decided to spend more time with San. To read. Then, there are certain times, what San likes to call their _special nights_, where they dance. Not only dance, they feel more alive than normally. Put on some music and let all their worries flow outside their bodies. Wooyoung dances like no one is looking, with his glasses slipping through his nose, almost falling with every movement. San is always there to fix it for him.

“Do you wanna sleep?” Wooyoung mumbles.

“More?”

“Why not?” The boy shrugs, moving from his position to rest his head on San’s shoulder. “Time is no real.”

That’s true.

Even when San doesn’t feel that sleepy anymore, he accepts Wooyoung’s plan and intertwines their fingers, slowly walking back to the room. Wooyoung jumps onto the bed first, choosing the wall side, opening his arms for San to fit.

And he fits.

It always amazed him how well he fits with Wooyoung. Almost like they were pieces from a puzzle. Made up inside a laboratory, growing up alone, looking through the window every night trying to count every single star painting the dark space, being failures. Always together. Just as if they were part of the same being.

San rests his head on Wooyoung’s chest, like always, listening to his heartbeats.

It’s nighttime when San wakes up, amazed that he could fall asleep in a matter of seconds. Twice in the same day. He rubs his eyes, realizing the lights are out, 9PM on the clock. And the sky, the sky is still the same.

Wooyoung sleeps for hours, and San has to wake him up by 10 PM because room checks are always at 10:15 PM and they can’t find him sleeping on San’s bed. The boy is heavy, clingier than ever, throwing his whole body over San. It’s just when he rests his head on his shoulder, refusing to open his eyes, when San notices the temperature of his skin. Is burning. He quickly checks his feet, still cold. But the rest of his body, on fire.

“Woo, eh,” he calls, softly patting one of his cheeks. The boy groans, still sleeping, breathing through his parted lips. “You got a fever. Oh my God. What should I do?” By that point, San starts talking to himself.

The rules are meant to be broken, that’s what San always says. There’s no one in that ship that hates the New Age and their stupid nonsense rules more than him, still, he knows he can get in problems if they find Wooyoung on his room. It’s not like they can’t spend time together, but that they can’t spend _way too much_ time together. They can’t mix, as the doctor said once. They can’t be more than friends, is what San understands, even when Wooyoung is already more than that (he won’t admit it). Sprouts can’t naturally feel the desire to attach themselves to another person, that’s what they want to say with that.

San _loves_ Wooyoung and right now he is scared, because he never got sick. They barely get sick, not counting that time Yunho caught one of the nurses cold and had to be in quarantine for weeks. To fall sick was even a better reason to be a defective subject. He looks down at Wooyoung, looking so in peace, after all those years.

It’s 10:10 PM when he finally moves him back to his room, tucking him on bed, giving him a soft peck on the cheek before sprinting out of the room and pretending to knock at the door. He just hopes the nurses can’t see through him.

“234,” the nurse in charge of the checking calls him by his number. “What are you doing out of your room?”

San takes a deep breath before answering, putting on his best fake smile, both hands over his chest. It amazes him how well he can pretend, almost as if he wasn’t a machine.

“I was calling Wooyoung,” he says, softly. “I lent him a book last week and I want it back. But he is not answering. Maybe something happened.”

“Or maybe he is sleeping,” the nurse sighs, getting closer. “But I have to check anyway. Stay on your room, okay? I will ask for the book.”

San nods, giving her a smile, not going inside his room until he sees her opening the door with her own card and stepping inside the dark pod. He closes the door at his back, sitting on the floor.

That other person, the one San got to know through his left eye, is not living on the Green Side of the ship. He realized when he saw him moving around normal people, not wearing those stupid white pajamas, looking happy.

The Green Side is where the Sprouts are born – and, hence, where they spend the rest of their lives. Wooyoung calls is _the Garden._ Without parents, alone in the same white room. Is a nice place, from the point of view of comfort, as it’s way better than the installations of the _normal _people. Is the closest to the King comfort, big enough for them to not get bored, with a big library, a gym, and even a pool. There’s also a garden where Mingi grew some sunflowers last year – San is still thinking on how ironic that was, because there is no sun for them to follow.

The images San gets from time to time are from the Gray Side. He can see the big windows of the launch station, the small spaceships, the big white tables of the dining hall. That other person is part of the New Moon Guard or something like that, not being a surprise after what he saw.

At first, San thougth he was dreaming.

It happened at nighttime, when he was already lying in bed. The first spark of light blinded him, and next second the face of the king was the only thing on his mind. Blood covering everything in a way he only saw once on a movie, Wooyoung clinging onto him because it was horrible to watch. The image of Park Seonghwa appeared minutes after, “I’ll take care of the rest, thanks,” he said.

And then, he added. “206.”

For what he knows – and what he had heard on the multiple times he sneaked in the lab – only the sprouts are labelled with numbers. And the only way a sprout makes it out of the Green Side, is if they died.

“It’s only a fever,” Wooyoung says when the nurses allow San to come into his room again. The boy is tucked in a hundred blankets, rose cheeks, not wearing his glasses. “I’m totally fine, you don’t need to worry about me that much, Sani.”

The boy pouts, dragging his feet from the door to the bed, knees digging on the mattress before wrapping his arms around the younger’s body. He lets out all the air containing on his lungs, eyes closed. “You will catch the cold if you stay,” Wooyoung adds, yet he let his fingers thread on San’s hair, caressing slowly. “It can be dangerous.”

“You just said you are fine,” San mumbles, snuggling closer.

Wooyoung giggles. “But I’m still sick, you really are willing to catch a cold because of me?”

_Yes._

The first time San saw Wooyoung, there were stars surrounding him.

San was only six, eyepatch covering his left eye, orange bracelet already twirling around his wrist. Orange, because he was a dead sprout, at just six years old. He loved to walk on his bare feet, the sound making him giggle with both hands pressed to his mouth because it was nighttime. And the doors were open, for some reason he decided to now wonder because he loved to sneak around.

That’s how he first met Wooyoung, on the garden, elbows on the window ledge. Lights were down, the space glowing in front of them. San likes to think the stars leaded him to Wooyoung and the tangle of black hair on top of his head. The white clothes and the necklace hanging from his neck: it was a purple star. He was smaller than the other kids, green engulfing his wrist. A sprout.

How they became friends, San doesn’t remember well. They’ve been always neighbors, but as a kid he wasn’t really interested in the person living on the other side of the wall. Wooyoung liked his eyepatch and San liked the way Wooyoung walked with magic bubbling from his feet. Maybe that was the start of everything. The feelings San carries on his heart, the softness that takes over his body every time he looks at him. Everything feels magical. Like they were destined to be – and they kinda are. San knows he shouldn’t be falling in _love_ with Wooyoung, because they should focus on more important things. But they are both defected subjects, Wooyoung started wearing the orange bracelet at twelve, when San was already deep into the mole under his eye. Who cares if he falls in love? They are going to die, eventually, without putting a foot on Earth. They can’t leave the Green Side. _Who really cares if he is actually able to feel?_

Still, he isn’t sure about what love is as no one ever explained to him.

But, Wooyoung is for San a spark of hope in the dark, cold space. Is the only thing that keeps his feet on the ground, but his head on the stars at the same time. Even if they do nothing more than read, or dance, or sleep, San knows he would follow Wooyoung to the end of the universe if that means they can be together. If that’s not love, then he doesn’t care at all. He calls it love, the same love Wooyoung reads on his book at 6 PM when they sky is dark and his feet, cold.

“I don’t get sick,” San says after a while, opening his eyes. Wooyoung’s breathing is slow, almost as slow as the rate of his heart. “I’m okay.”

“Hmmm.”

San takes a deep breath, taking with him the soft smell of cinnamon glued to the blankets. “I missed you.”

“It’s been only two days,” Wooyoung rolls on bed, hot cheek pressed to San’s forehead. San’s fingers crawl to his back, hugging him tightly. “What did you do today?”

It’s 9 PM. Or whatever.

He saw Park Seonghwa.

It was for a brief instant but for the first time on his life, it wasn’t through his shared vision, but in person. He was on the garden, sitting next to Mingi, fingers digging on the dirt – searching for nothing, just in a way of getting distracted because it was 4 PM and Wooyoung was still sound sleep, high on medication. And Seonghwa walked in.

Black hair, navy jacket decorated with a lot of gold, almost looking like the starry sky he saw on the movies. He looked way different, yet his expression was the same: sad, but not so much. Hiding a lot of things, things San knew.

Seonghwa was accompanied by the royal guard and the scientist in charge of the Green Side. Even when San couldn’t catch a word of their conversation, it was obvious that wasn’t a simple visit. The King died, and to think nothing would change, it’s to take a very dangerous step.

San bit his tongue, suddenly feeling in danger.

“The prince visited us today,” he mumbles, fingers moving from the small of his back to his nape, as hot as his cheek.

San can feel on his skin how Wooyoung frowns, taking a little bit of time to digest that new. The sigh that leaves his lips burns San’s face. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” San shrugs, moving a little to rest Wooyoung back into the mattress. Telling Wooyoung about what he knows, or how he can feel the fear rooting deep down within him, is not on his future. Nothing is gonna happen, he doesn’t need to share it. Instead of keeping with that conversation, he presses a hand onto his forehead, clicking his tongue. “Did you take the medicine?”

Wooyoung nods, eyes fluttering open. He isn’t wearing his glasses, San misses it, but it makes him look much more like a baby. His cheeks are still painted in pink, lips chapped.

“Do you want some water?”

“I’m okay,” he coughs, fingers searching for San’s hand. “Will you stay for a little longer? I want to know more about your day.”

“Of course.”

San replies fast, fingers threading on Wooyoung’s hair as he recites the rest of his day and the boy listens, smiling from time to time, only interrupting him to giggle. Yet, San can’t stops thinking about Seonghwa and the fact he was there.

San only takes off his eyepatch when he is alone on his pod. Sometimes early in the morning, when the clock marks 7 AM, he finds himself looking through the window and seeing flowers instead of stars. After what happened, it bugs San how that person can have such a big love for flowers when, at the same time, he is able to pull a trigger without thinking. Thoughts about the blood on his hands are still rambling on the back of his mind even after a week, news still repeating the same thing again and again.

There’s only three more weeks before the coronation, Seonghwa starting to appear more and more in every public event.

His mother died the day he was born, with his dad dead, no siblings, he has not a familiar remaining. The royal blood starts and ends, right now, with Park Seonghwa.

“We are trying to keep the memory of my father alive,” he says directly from San’s TV, gaze lost in somewhere past the cameras pointing at him. “His priority was the people living here, I’ll make sure nothing changes. I’ll make sure we reach the paradise.”

San stares blankly before he decides lately the news are not being nothing but a bunch of lies. Shaking his head, he decides to take off his eyepatch and lie on the floor, staring directly to the ceiling. It takes a while for him to receive an image.

He is surprised to see a rushed image at first, blurry, almost as if the other person is running. It adjusts itself after a couple seconds, a head appearing first. San recognizes the black, navy and gold covering the person, as well as the pale skin of his nape. Seonghwa. The same Seonghwa he just saw on the news. He turns his head with a sharp movement, eyes fluttering, trying to find the clock. Was that a live program?

“Ah, I’m so tired,” Seonghwa sighs, one hand moving to his collar, taking off the tie. “This is so bothersome, why can’t I just be king already? That bastard died a week ago.”

San’s stomach twirls at the sound of that words, one hand pressed to the floor, standing up a little as if he was able to hear better that way – when, in reality, that lays on the person he is seeing that image through.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty,” a tiny man appears on his – the person – vision field. He is wearing the same navy colors, but instead of gold, there’s silver around him. San recognizes him from the program because of his dark hair, short and a little shaved on the extremes, long brain falling on his back. “We need to respect the month of grieve, your father governed for eighty-seven years, everyone is still mourning. Also, If we want the plan to succeed, we need more time for preparations.”

“It’s a bother,” Seonghwa whines again, with a loud sigh.

“It’s for the sake of the New World,” the man says. “We just need to wait for three more weeks. But don’t worry, your Majesty, the plan is already launched, sprouts are being selected.”

San shakes his head, standing up abruptly. The words scape his lips before he can even think of it, “Sprouts? Are they talking about us?” And then, the image is lost. But it’s not that he lost – kind of – the signal, because he can hear how the steps stops rumbling on the walls, Seonghwa’s voice bubbling in the darkness.

“Are you okay, 206?”

“Yes, your Majesty. I’m perfectly fine,” the voice is soft, first time he gets to clearly listen to it. Almost velvety, spreading around his brain with a wave of warmth. San feels weak on the knees, late realizing two things: first one, that person just covered his eye when San spoke, almost as if he heard him. “A little headache. My mind is burning after all the interviews.”

San can hear the other boy, the general speaking, chuckling before adding a “you are so weak.” Seonghwa doesn’t talk immediately, making San nervous. Then, he says with a low voice, “Go rest. Everyone. I can go by my own. You too, Hongjoong.”

Someone mumbles back – Hongjoong, he is sure –, signal finally losing on the back of his mind. He blinks, recovering his vision – who knows for how long, so he puts back on the eyepatch and runs to the couch, picking the remote and turning the TV. Even if it was a live retransmitting, he knows it will appear back. And he finds it within the two firsts channels.

Next to Seonghwa are four persons. Three men and one woman, all wearing the same clothes, staying as still they seem statues. One of them is the one he saw, short haired dude (Hongjoong). And the person he had been sharing his vision for almost fifteen years, is standing in front of him. Is one of those men.

The second one, that person not only knows about his existence.

Now, he also knows San heard them.

It takes Wooyoung another week to get fully recovered, nurses saying that he needs to eat more than once a week because, even if his body is adapted to starve, he is only making it worse to the dead cells on his system. They give them a full set of vitamins and San finds himself trying one, blue pill between his lips, on a boring Friday – the calendar says it’s Friday, but San likes to believe days are also made up and that there’s no Sun that can help them keep track of the days. Well, there is a Sun, and it’s true they are spinning around a death Earth. But that’s not remotely close to having a real sun remarking the start or the end of the day.

So, it’s Friday, but it could be perfectly Tuesday, or even some invented day – he is not that good with imagination.

San is sitting on Wooyoung’s bed as the younger reads a book, a new one, on the other corner. As he swallows the pill – without the need of the glass of water the nurse left on the table two days ago, still untouched because Wooyoung refuses to drink more than necessarily (being for him “necessarily” once a day and from the crystal bottle on his fridge) – he can’t contain the sadness biting his skin as clingy Wooyoung disappeared with sick Wooyoung. And, also with warm Wooyoung, starting to feel his feet cold and his skin itchy from the lack of contact.

The sweater he is wearing is also very uncomfortable.

“Hey, Woo,” he speaks up, feeling his throat sore, no signs of feeling more vitalized. “Would you read for me?”

Wooyoung peaks at him, only the glass of his glasses being visible. Silence floats around them, making San skin itchier – but that’s not an impediment for him to crawl on the mattress until he is sitting by his feet, covering them with his legs. “You always have cold feet,” he points, lips curving. He doesn’t waits for an answer to that, being nothing more but a mere annotation, as he noticed how Wooyoung never wore socks – again, because stations were fake, summer, spring or whatever shit they learned in school years ago was just applied to the (dead) Earth, having the same temperature every single day – and, hence, his feet were always cold. “What are you reading?”

The boy doesn’t say a thing yet, almost as if he lost his voice after two weeks being in bed, rising the book so he can see the tittle. San arches a brow. “Poetry?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “Yunho visited me yesterday. He found this while doing laundry, is an old book. Different. I wanted to give it a try.”

San scooches closer, chin resting on Wooyoung’s pressed knees. “Are you liking it?”

Instead of answering, Wooyoung reads out loud the words scrambled on the page he has been playing with for the past five minutes. “My favorite thing about you is your smell. You smell like Earth, herbs, gardens. A little more human than the rest of us,” he bites his lower lip before looking up at San, gaze fixed on him, almost mesmerized. Words rambling inside his mind. “I don’t quite understand it,” Wooyoung adds with a shrug, passing the page, “but at the same time, I feel like this is what I’ve been feeling all my life.”

San’s fingers reach out for the book, cover as black as Wooyoung’s hair, and reads the poem awaiting him on that page. For some reason, he feels his heart race. Waiting for him, it lays, “Nothing is safer than the sound of you reading out loud to me,” smile blooming on his lips, he stares tenderly at how Wooyoung bites his lower lip, fingers hiding inside the length of his blue hoodie. “I love when you read to me,” San adds in a whisper, words twirling on his tongue. “It makes me feel safe. You know, we are drifting. Not literally, but,” the words die in the air. “I’ve always been scared of the space, even when I was born here, _because_ I was born here. But you… Wooyoung, when I am with you, I feel like I’m home. That nothing bad could happen to me, ever. Isn’t that weird?”

Living in the space has good things, but as every good thing, it also has a bad side. Dangerous, or just not beneficial for them. People of the Gray Side can choose their partner, without problems or objections, the only rule applicable to them is the only one child – or no child at all. People of the Green Side, on the other hand, couldn’t even have a parent. San knows someone carried him on his belly after the scientist created him, a space where he could float for a couple months, he remembers a song. But he grew up totally alone, without knowing any type of love. Everyone living on the Green Side is part of a plan, they are not persons anymore, just subjects. Subjects shouldn’t experience love, because the brain doesn’t have time for that. And no one lives long enough to have kids anyway.

Still, he knows he feels different for Wooyoung. Being that the best thing of living among the stars – and the worse, the bad side, that they can’t choose each other. They can’t choose at all.

“I don’t know a thing about _love_,” Wooyoung mumbles, almost reading his mind, taking the book from his hands. “And I don’t know how to feel about _you_, but I like that poem,” his fingers move fast, passing all the pages until he finds it, reading it again. Four times, nose pressed into the skin of San’s hand on the last one. “It talks about you, amazingly because this is an old book and you are a sprout,” he jokes, smiley grin finally brushing his factions. “You smell different, like you don’t belong here. Sometimes I find myself thinking that this is not where I was meant to be, that the stars made a mistake and threw me into this jail, this tiny garden where I can’t do nothing more but wait to die. Then your image comes to my mind, and how I love your pod way more than mine even when ours are exactly the same, but maybe it is because you are there, and you smell like everything makes sense in the end. And you give me inner peace, when we dance, that at least I’m not gonna die alone.”

San intertwines their fingers, bringing him hand closer to his lips. Closing his eyes, he rests his lips on the soft skin of Wooyoung’s hand. It smells like soap, and maybe a little bit like medicine. When he opens his eyes again, Wooyoung is just sitting there with his hand on the air, big eyes scrutinizing his face. It hits San – it hit him a long time ago, this is just a remembrance – that they won’t ever have whatever shit the main characters of Wooyoung’s novels have. Forget about the rules, and how their brains are not made for that at all, focus on how they grew up mostly like machines. They don’t know the name of the feelings, they are scared – San is.

He sighs.

“The stars wanted us to be together,” he finally says, squeezing his hand. “In one way or another. Even if we depart, I’m pretty sure they will lead us back to the start again,” Wooyoung is still looking at him both like he found a reason to keep on breathing and doesn’t have a clue about what San is saying. It’s funny to watch. “I’m not going anywhere though, because I want to be with you.”

Wooyoung smiles, moving his free hand to put it above their intertwined fingers. “I want to be with you too. Like, sleeping on the same bed and having breakfast together every morning type of way.”

“You never eat breakfast,” San retorts, thinking about Wooyoung’s unhealthy – or maybe he shouldn’t call it unhealthy because they are _made_ to survive weeks without food – habit of having one meal a day. And it’s always dinner with San (even when Wooyoung calls it lunch).

“With you, I’m willing to do it. I don’t want to do that with Yunho, nor with Mingi. It’s just you, Sani. When I was sick, the fever wouldn’t let me sleep at night, nightmares making my head dizzy. And I just wanted you to be with me. Sleeping with you is like medicine. If that’s weird, then I love weird, and I _love_ you.”

San only breaks the hold to lean forward, taking him between his arms, pulling all his pieces together in a tender hug. Face buried on his neck, chest filling with air and a lot of emotions. Nameless emotions, but strong enough to make him teary eyed. It’s been almost a lifetime since he met Wooyoung.

“I also do,” he closes his eyes, stars sparking at the other side of his eyelids. “Loving you.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon – or whatever – reading the book. Is Wooyoung the one reading, but this time San is resting his head on his lap, eyes closed when Wooyoung peeks at him, but focused on his little nose when he is busy with the words he doesn’t understand. It’s cute.

Right before going back to his room – as it’s almost 10:15 –, Wooyoung asks to mark a poem of the book. Just because, the one they liked the most. To read it when they’re feeling _weird._

Wooyoung goes first, using a green pencil to write his name in what, later when it’s his turn to write his own name – with a purple one –, he finds it’s the same poem he wanted. He frowns, looking up at the boy slowly dancing at the other side of the room, hoodie way too big for him, covering half his legs in an endearing way. “Can we pick the same one?” He asks, biting the end of the pencil.

“No,” Wooyoung doesn’t stop his movement. “Pick another one.”

“Why don’t _you_ pick another?”

Wooyoung laughs, sentencing, “because it’s my book.”

San rolls his eyes, passing the pages slowly because he really doesn’t remember any other poem aside from the one at page 104. He spends ten minutes until he finally writes his name in a corner, closing the book and putting it back into the shelf with the rest.

After that, he walks where Wooyoung is dancing and holds him on his arms for a minute, resting his lips on his forehead before exiting his room and sitting, once again, with his back pressed to the door. His pod is cold.

His poem, one hundred fifty-four pages after.

_Stay strong through your pain_

_Grow flowers from it_

_You have helped me_

_Grow flowers out of mine so_

_Bloom beautifully_

_Dangerously_

_Bloom softly_

_However you need_

_Just bloom_

San doesn’t tell Wooyoung about his eye, neither about what he learned a few days ago. Mostly because they are starting something, but also with the fear of scaring Wooyoung away. Or worse, getting him hurt in the way. It’s going smoothly, week filled with new things and new emotions, and he doesn’t want to break that right away. So, they just flow, like the water did when rivers existed, so slowly the movement is barely appreciated. But it is there, on their skin, on how Wooyoung would rest his head on his chest at 6 PM claiming is early in the morning. Is on San’s heart and how it swells when Wooyoung sinks on his bed and covers his whole body with the blankets, leaving nothing more but his round face on sight – and San can’t help but kiss his cheeks.

They are like water.

It was never fire. Their relationship grew up slowly, starting as a seedling, needing the water to fly into the sky. And it was calm, pacifying. Everything at once, overlapping to the point it reduced to zero. They were lying over calm water, a dead sea.

“I miss the moon,” San says by the end of the week, letting Wooyoung brush his hair.

“You do?” Wooyoung doesn’t sound perplexed, it’s more like a vague response, maybe way too focused on the black strands of hair to even pay attention to San’s ridiculous mumbles. Because he, in fact, never got to see the moon as it was destroyed eighty years before he was born.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, fingers resting on the bare skin of his legs. “Isn’t it crazy? Right now, I’m feeling nostalgic over something I never got to see with my own eyes. I only know what we read on books – I mean, what you _read_ on that old book Mingi gave you,” Wooyoung laughs softly at San’s words, adding a calm, “Why are you feeling _moonstalgic_?”

The pun is so bad he had the urge to move to look back at Wooyoung, receiving a pinch on the cheek – hand in hand with the biggest smile he’d ever seen in the boy. He ends up laughing because, _damn_, it’s Wooyoung, and that’s Wooyoung. Always making the cleverest comments yet having the worse sense of humor. Amazingly, the only one that can make him laugh like that, is the tiny sprout Wooyoung is.

“I was thinking about the sea.”

“The moon causes tides,” Wooyoung was the one reading him that years ago, when they were intrigued about the moon, adding after a short second, “caused.”

“Do you think the sea stopped moving when the moon disappeared?”

Wooyoung moves his knees closer, pulling them to San’s back, chin pressed on top of his head. “I don’t know. I’ve always feared the ocean, so I don’t like reading about it. I mean, look at us, we are in _space_. The space is big, cold and filled with mysteries, but people on Earth liked the idea of launching us here instead of into the ocean. Why? What the hell holds the ocean we had to run away?”

San turns, facing him, both hands between his. “There’s no oxygen underwater.”

Wooyoung shakes his head no, slightly pouting.

“There is,” he affirms. “Is dissolved on the water, but we humans can’t access to it with our respiratory system. You know where’s no oxygen?”

His question floats around the room, no need for an answer as they both face the window. There’s a big transparent field surrounding the ship, so it is not like the space is awaiting them at the other side of the – very thick and unbreakable – glass. Still, they can see the darkness engulfing everything. There’s no oxygen on the space.

San wasn’t wrong at all. They’re still like water, holding the unknown – and the fear – within them.

They spend another hour on bed, this time is San the one brushing Wooyoung’s hair, getting special attention to the blond strand on top of his head. He always thought that was what made Wooyoung different from the others, even when the boy hated it so much. Almost white on top of black. For San, it was always like light breaking through the night, bringing hope again.

“Do you want to go to the pool?” Wooyoung asks and San’s silent answer is just a nod.

It’s 7 PM and the pool is empty.

Actually, it’s not like they have a timetable for doing whatever they like, because the defective sprouts don’t have to train anymore, they just have to stay there until their hearts decide to stop. They can stay until 10 PM, that’s the only rule. San doesn’t have a clue why 10 PM, or what the hell is happening after that hour where they lock the doors of their pods from the outside. The only time San got to put a foot outside the pod after 10 PM, was the day the system failed, and the doors opened alone. He was curious and just started wandering around, finding Wooyoung on the garden. He doesn’t remember seeing nothing weird.

Lights are on, waters slowly moving thanks to the mechanism of the pool – there’s no air that could be moving it. What it makes the pool a nice place, is that there’s no windows at all. The place is surrounded by a big image system that’s always playing a blue sky, sunny. They told him, when he was just a kid, that the sky on the Earth looked just like that. It was beautiful.

“It’s warm,” Wooyoung breaks the silence, knees on the floor, half his arm inside the water. “Are you taking off your clothes or just going like that?”

He asks as if his decision would be decisive for his own, being completely curious, mockery never touching his lips. San is still wearing the itchy sweater and the pajama pants.

“Off,” he says, pulling the sweater over his head, doing the same with the pants just a second later. He stays with his underwear on before running a little and jumping into the water. Is warm, just as Wooyoung said.

San sinks. Letting the water cover every inch of his body, feet meeting the floor. He opens his eyes, still underwater, cheeks full of air; and he looks at the _sky_. Everything is blue above his head, sun shining beautifully, almost like he is in the ocean. He feels _free_.

Wooyoung is the one pulling him to the surface, lips parting in search for the oxygen he didn’t realized he needed. “I told you, we can’t breathe underwater,” he almost nags at him, fingers brushing the hair off his face with such delicacy San can’t help but scoot closer, hands flying to Wooyoung’s waist. He is also on his underwear, just as San predicted. “Is amazing we can’t use what mother nature gives us, yet we are able to be here right now, in a pool on the space,” he makes a pause to take a deep breath, filling his lungs. “Breathing a fake air.”

San looks at him, clueless, before taking his face between his hands and leaning. Closer. Pressing their lips together in a feverishly kiss.

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung laughs, vibrations dancing on San’s bottom lip, hands moving to his neck.

“Tasting the fake air,” he blurts, making the boy giggle even more, pulling his head back before leaning himself, catching San by surprise. Kissing him again. Languidly, and totally unexperienced. San thinks, fingers tightly pressed to the skin of his waist, without a clue about what he is doing. No one ever told them about how to kiss another person, nor what to do after lips were pressed together. They stay quiet for a while, just tasting like each other, Wooyoung shyly breathing on his lips, sending electric shocks down his spine.

“You taste like carrot cake,” Wooyoung gulps, licking his lower lip, and San can feel it, he can _fucking feel it _on every single cell of his body. “When did you eat it?”

San moves one of his hand from his waist to his neck, fingers roaming over his skin. Finding his cheek, he squeezes a little, bringing him closer to his lips, stealing the air from his lungs once again. Wooyoung makes a sound beneath him, body melting, skin burning. “You were sleeping,” San says after what it seems years, years of kissing Wooyoung against the curb of the pool, heavy legs as the decided to just stay on the deepest part. San feels like a mess inside, blood rushing everywhere but his brain, moving like he was a robot and using teeth when it wasn’t necessary, biting his own tongue in a rush of arousal. Wooyoung, on the other hand, looks like a mess, totally outside. San decide to bring his hand to his hair at some point, the other one still firmly pressed to his waist so he wouldn’t slip away, making it messy and wet. Lips are swollen, red and moisty, and San never felt that desire of kiss another person. Not even with Wooyoung. The Wooyoung of just one hour ago, totally different to the Wooyoung of right now. He shakes his head, thoughts piling down in one forgotten corner. Wooyoung is really fire, at least right now, and San feels a little bit like made of paper, ready to get burn at any time. “You looked so cute I didn’t want to wake you up. More like, I couldn’t just break that peace.”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue, moving his head from side to side, slowly. “That’s bad. You ate my carrot cake.”

“You have plenty of carrot cake!” San moves a little to exclaim. “What remembers me, you have to eat more. You are so skinny.”

“But I’m never hungry.”

“Still.”

Wooyoung groans, one hand hitting his nape. “Don’t nag at me and kiss me.”

San is happy to oblige, tasting the fire on his lips one more time before sinking in the water. Still warm.

After a while, Wooyoung asks “Have you ever kissed someone?” and San’s body stops because he doesn’t quite understand the question. Sitting on the stairs, water only covering their legs, they’ve been doing nothing but look at the sky. San turns his head on his direction, hands falling into the water.

“What?”

Wooyoung chuckles, moving his feet underwater, creating slow waves around them. “Before me, I mean.”

It takes San a second to reply as Wooyoung was his first, being his first for everything, and confusion is taking a lot of his body because why would Wooyoung ask such a thing? “No. What about you?”

“Never,” he shakes his head, eyes falling from the sky to focus on the little waves he keeps on making with the movement of his feet. “I’ve read it, though. Kissing someone in real life is completely different from what I thought it’d be.”

“How so?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “Different. While I was reading all those books, I never felt something here,” he takes a hand to his chest, fingers slowly scratching the skin almost dried, droplets kissing his shoulders. “Not what I felt when you kissed me. I have to admit I was surprised, but surprise turned into something more, it twirled around my heart. It was nice,” he shoots San a sweet smile, so pure. Happiness dancing on his cheeks, filling not only his lips but also his eyes in a beautiful way.

“It was more than nice,” he adds after a while. “It was like having stars on my tongue.”

San is the one chuckling then, sliding through the stairs to kneel in front of him, letting the water engulf him. “That’s an interesting way of describing our first kiss,” he looks at him from below, finding him the most beautiful creature in the universe.

“It burned,” Wooyoung whispers, so low San wouldn’t have been able to hear him if they weren’t this close. With one more step, they are even closer, Wooyoung letting his body fall on San’s, arms wrapping around his neck. The boy gulps, gaze immediately flying to his lips. Again. “Won’t you take off your eyepatch?”

The question takes him by surprise, fingers quickly flying to the wet fabric over his eye. As far as Wooyoung knows, San doesn’t take off the eyepatch when they’re together because he doesn’t like the color of his eye – gray, almost white on the edges –, and it’s the true. But he doesn’t do it as he wants to be alone with Wooyoung, as he wants to see Wooyoung and only him. Nothing more. And right now, he feels scared the other person is looking.

“Everything about you is beautiful, San. Please.”

One of Wooyoung’s hands move to his face, fingers threading on the elastic band. San stops him, fingers wrapped around his wrist. He can’t. “_Please_,” Wooyoung begs, breath burning his skin. San shakes his no, leaving a kiss on the palm of his hand. “Not now.”

The hand falls from his hold, not really knowing if it’s him the one letting it go or Wooyoung moving away. He is scared, of what he heard, of the fact the person he has been sharing his vision it’s not only a murderer but a member of the royal guard. It’s almost like having Park Seonghwa looking inside his brain, Park Seonghwa that not only killed his father, but is plotting something. And San, once again, knows.

Whatever plan he has on mind for the day of his coronation could send San directly to his deathbed, and in any way whatsoever, he is bringing Wooyoung with him. He knows how vision works, that the brain only receives information in form of light. They will be safe like this.

Yet, he understands if Wooyoung gets mad. He _waits _for the boy to push him aside and walk out of the pool. But he doesn’t do it. “Okay,” he says, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, hair tickling him. “Let’s swim for a little more. I want to sleep with you before curfew.”

And they do. They swim, they kiss underwater, San dries Wooyoung’s hair, they lay next to each other for what it seems an eternity until Wooyoung falls sound asleep, one leg tangled around San’s body.

Sitting on the couch, at 10:45 and after the nurse cheeks he is here and not floating around the space. San rethinks again. The TV is on, being the only light on, but he is not even paying attention to the program playing. He bites his thumb, Wooyoung’s scent still glued to his skin, driving him crazy.

Wooyoung is neither water nor fire. He is way more powerful than that. He is not any star, nor a planet. He is like the moon, and San is the one being water, tides shaking his whole being with just one touch.

The garden is San’s favorite place of the ship. Maybe because it looks, actually, to the ones Wooyoung showed him from that journal about 2019’s gardening they found long forgotten at the bottom of a box of tulip seeds, maybe because it smells a little fresher than the rest of the ship. There’s always fresh air coming out from one conduct, simulating a soft spring breeze. Even when the lights are fake, there’s no sun, and they’re almost inside an infinite void, San finds comfort there, fingers digging on the dirt.

Wooyoung made his hair in the morning, and almost after all his life, he knocked on San’s door at 9 AM – from the clock. He said he couldn’t sleep and, the day after they went to the pool, he only appeared to sleep next to San. After five days, he actually sits in front of San on the kitchen table and mumbles under his breath while San takes his cereal. Today he brushed his hair and pulled it into a ponytail before leaving.

San kissed his cheek.

“I once read, or maybe it was you, Woo, I can’t remember,” Mingi is mumbling, hair filled with red clips, hands pressing the dirt where he just put the seeds. Gardening it’s inside the training plan for the Sprouts – ironically –, scientist saying that it helps the keep the mind relaxed and clear. Yet, neither Wooyoung nor Yunho seems to be having a relaxing time, as they both struggle to keep the seeds inside the soil. “Anyway, I have this memory saying that tulips can resist the hard winter and then bloom on spring. Isn’t that amazing?”

San doesn’t even look up from his work, words dying on his tongue.

“As if we care,” is Yunho the one saying what he was dying to scream, giving up with a snort. Yunho has his whole hair white, wearing not an orange bracelet but a red one instead. Yunho was born like this, cells dying without a reason. It makes San’s blood boil. For that you can’t just play with life that way. “There’s no winter here, and these tulips will be adults in like two weeks. Crazy. Who said this shit was relaxing? I feel like punching the first person that crosses that door,” he signals to the crystal door, dirt falling everywhere. Wooyoung clicks his tongue, frown decorating his skin.

Mingi parts his lips, ready to say something, when the door actually opens, bunch of scientists walking inside. Yunho will have to wait to punch someone, because just right after them, Park Seonghwa salutes them with a big smile. San’s heart falls to his feet, gaze moving faster than ever, looking at the guard accompanying him. The same he saw on TV.

The four of them, as well with the rest of people working there, stands up to bow at the prince, San quickly standing next to Wooyoung. Everything looks normal and strange at the same time.

“268,” one of the nurses calls out for Mingi, the only one among them that still wears a green bracelet around his wrist. “Would you accompany us for a while?”

“Something happened?” Mingi cleans the dirt on his hands on the white pants without thinking, making Seonghwa wrinkle his nose just for a brief second. Yet, San sees as he is unable to stop staring. Up-close, he is even more imposing.

“Everything is fine,” is Seonghwa the one talking, moving one step closer, fake smile taking over all his face. His eyes flutter from Mingi’s face to the rest, stopping one second more on San’s. “As my dad died, I’ll have to take responsibility of the Plan Sprout. We’re just making sure everything is working correctly.”

_Bullshit._

San bites his tongue, observing how Mingi nods and moves to the door, also without thinking too much on it. He waves at them, Yunho waves back. After what he listened, hearing Seonghwa’s real voice, sending Mingi like that makes him feel a piercing feeling on his stomach that send trembles to his legs. Almost like danger biting his ankles. It feels wrong. He wants to call his friend out, but he can’t, words dying on his throat.

“Are you okay?” Wooyoung gives his hand a squeeze, blowing him from his thoughts to make him snap back into reality, yet it’s not Wooyoung the one asking but Seonghwa. He got close at some point; icy eyes now fixed on San. He feels his throat sore. What if he _knows_?

“What?”

“Your eye,” Seonghwa says, speaking soft, almost looking like a totally different person. “Why are you wearing this? Are you hurt?”

San’s whole body shakes with a big shiver, crawling all the way to his neck from his spine, but he tries to look unaffected, gulping and squaring up. _He totally knows_, he thinks, yet doesn’t let that fear reach his face as he speaks again. “The cells of my eye are dead, your Majesty. You don’t need to worry.”

Seonghwa seems to accept his answer without objections, giving the rest of them a short goodbye before leaving. San chokes on air, almost falling on his knees. His chest is burning with fear.

“You’ve been acting moody,” Wooyoung takes a sit on the bed they’ve been sharing for a long time, maybe just a couple hours since the younger knocked on his door, maybe an eternity with his fingers tangled on his soft hair strands. San only opens one eye, analyzing him. Wooyoung’s has been observing him for the past two days, since Prince Seonghwa decided to kill the remaining healthy cells on his system.

San is scared.

Because he knows the things Seonghwa would do to silence someone, and being totally honest, living on the Green Side of the ship, being part of the New Age humanity, sucks to the point of craving death, but he doesn’t want to die. Not with a hole between his eyebrows. Not like that.

“Hmmm?” He grunts.

“Tetchy.”

“What?” San rolls on bed, digging his elbows on the mattress to get some impulse. Wooyoung lets out a big mouthful of hair, in a languid sigh.

“And disquieted,” he ends with half a smile.

“Where have you been learning all those words?”

He doesn’t get an answer, silence moving around them with the smoothness of a snake searching for his prey. San is the prey, feeling how Wooyoung’s eyes congeal on him, searching for answers– no, waiting for them. He sinks again on the bed, hiding from him, although Wooyoung already has a hand on his wrist, pulling him back. “What?” San demands again, being assaulted by Wooyoung’s lips.

They haven’t kissed since that day on the pool. Not because they didn’t want to – San was, to be true, craving for it – but because it wasn’t the moment. Wooyoung likes slow paces, because he is a slow being. He loves to analyze what’s happening around him ten times closer than the others. Even when a week has passed since they kissed, Wooyoung’s mind is still on the pool, limbs tangled together, remembering his first kiss until he falls asleep with a smile on his lips. San accepts it but can’t contain the small moan that escapes from his throat, needy.

Wooyoung places both hands on his face and kisses him like he learned new things in a matter of one week. Their lips move slowly against each other, soft and calm, following the right steps on this new dance. It makes San’s body feel like home, like this is what he always needed to feel safe.

“Why aren’t you talking with me?” Wooyoung is frowning when they break apart to breath, even when San wouldn’t have minded at all to breath over his skin. Fingers move from San’s cheek to his shoulder, taking a sit on his lap, face half worried half serious.

“You kissed me.”

“I mean, before,” Wooyoung sighs. “Whatever that’s been bothering you… you can tell me, San. What we have,” he stops midsentence, tongue meeting his lower lip. San can’t take his eyes of him and how delicate he is. How much he wants to kiss his cute little nose. How his arms are the home San never had. How he always _loved_ him. How he wants to call him yours, and how he wants to be his. Forever. “What _I feel_ for you is still new for me. I knew you were different from the moment that we met, because you have something that draws me to you, almost like if you were Jupiter and I was Europe. But is still new, I have a bag full of unnamed feelings at the back of my mind, waiting for you to pick them and give them a reason. We have a lifetime to do that, we have _forever_, just you and I,” he leans in, pressing their foreheads together. San’s first instinct is to wrap his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “But right now, I need you to talk to me. Tell me was wrong.”

Again, there’s silence between them. Wooyoung gives him time to digest the words he just poured over him, thinking of it like rain, hoping the flowers would bloom out of his skin as fast the tulips they planted on the garden. Is not that easy, though.

San opens his mouth, searching for air, finding nothing more but Wooyoung’s smell. Wooyoung. It’s kinda funny how he got his brain intoxicated by that little sprout he grew up with, covering every inch of the organ with his scent that it has become so difficult to differentiate the thin line between just the kid next door that likes to come and read for him and the moon that gravitates around him. Maybe the line was always blurry, because he always thougth differently of Wooyoung. Maybe he just doesn’t remember because he is focused on the present, and the present only has Wooyoung wrapped around his arms and Park Seonghwa, much for his displeasure.

He was granted a whole new opportunity. A new moon, just for him, and he promised himself to protect it much better than his antecessors did. _Wooyoung won’t crash_, he repeats. He won’t make it shatter. That’s the main reason things are not easy. Spilling everything he knows, he learned, he saw, will only make things easier for Seonghwa.

He sniffles.

“You can trust me,” yet, is Wooyoung the one speaking, fingers drawing circles on his cheeks.

“I know,” San moves slowly, eyes dancing over Wooyoung’s lavender sweater, engulfing him, getting lost in the crook of his neck and soft sun kissed skin. San always wondered how that thought got into his mind, since there’s no sun and everyone walks around wearing the same layer of fair skin. But not Wooyoung. He is different, honey coated. His eyes keep their pace, meeting his lips (tight), his nose (pointy) and his eyes (worried). San sighs, dropping his gaze in a second, falling back into the mattress. “Can you read me something first?”

He trusts Wooyoung with his heart. Still, how to tell him everything without putting his life against the edge?

Wooyoung nods, leaving the mattress to search for one of the books piled on his desk – Wooyoung has been bringing them to San’s room, accidentally forgetting them there, so now San’s room looks like a mess (not that he really cares). The comforter wiggles as Wooyoung jumps in, cold feet touching San’s bare legs. “You are cold!” He squeals.

“It’s summer,” Wooyoung remembers.

Hanging from a wall, there’s a calendar. It’s not like San put it there – if it was for him, there wouldn’t be clocks, calendars or any other form of telling him what time or day or whatever it is – but the ones that made the ship. Everything is electronic, but San can’t even touch it because his fingerprints aren’t allowed. It marks June 20th. They are under the covers.

“I guess,” San breathes, opening his arms so Wooyoung can rest his head on his shoulder.

He reads poetry again.

Page 104.

Tenth times before San sighs and rolls over the mattress, getting on top of him, one arm firmly pressed into the soft sheet next to his head, the other pulling the book from his face. Wooyoung looks at him challenging.

“Stop.”

“But is the truth. I love you, and I accept everything you carry with you.”

San shakes his head before holding Wooyoung’s hand, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles. “It won’t be _safe_.”

“You hold safeness within you, San,” Wooyoung says. “We could ride on a star and still, I’d be safe, because it’s you and me. We’ve been always together. Fifteen years. I know what I’m talking about.”

San gulps.

“I know it has something to do with the prince,” Wooyoung adds, making San jump on the spot, eyes searching for him. “I’m not an idiot, I observe you. Whatever is on your mind, I can take it. We’re on this together.”

San mind sets on fire, lips parting in search of air. He feels like there’s no turning back, but at the same time he just wants to hold Wooyoung between his arms and drift away. Only the two of them. Alone on the universe.

They can’t.

They can’t even spend the nighttime together.

Wooyoung places a kiss on his cheek. After a couple minutes, San is babbling about everything he knows, doing it in the most absolute silence in case someone is hearing, whispering directly on Wooyoung’s ear.

But before that, he takes off the eyepatch.


	2. the breaking

-

San wakes up in the middle of the night, completely alone.

As he slowly opens his eyes, finding nothing more but darkness – and the green emergency lights on top of every door, announcing the pod is totally blocked and hence, he can’t exit it until the next morning –, he catches a glimpse of the hour on the clock. Shining in green, it’s 3 AM.

With a sigh, he raises a hand to his eyes, touching nothing more but soft skin. His eyepatch is no longer there, memories of just a couple hours early eating his brain, the fear in Wooyoung’s eyes kicking him repeatedly until he can’t breathe. But what bugs San is not that he is scared, is the fact Wooyoung is scared San gets hurt.

San is scared Wooyoung gets hurt.

So, they’re both scared, not because they might die fifteen years earlier than expected if they step in the wrong place but because the other _could_.

“You look beautiful,” Wooyoung muttered, fingers dancing over his skin, making San ticklish to the point of just having to take his hand away. But Wooyoung still had another, doesn’t doubting not even for a sec before laying it over his left eye, thumb feeling his lashes.

San tilted his head. “Stop that. I just told you something… big.”

“No, you _are_ beautiful,” Wooyoung corrects himself, totally ignoring him. “I’ve never saw both your eyes, I’m amazed.”

“They’re only eyes, Woo.”

“They’re _yours_,” he whispered, smile breaking through his lips when San finally decided to open his eyes, white meeting black.

He couldn’t see a thing about the other person, being thankful he was sleeping or just not paying attention to his brain. He didn’t want them to catch Wooyoung’s face, not now, not ever.

San told him everything. About his eye and what it does, about the death of the King and about Seonghwa. Wooyoung listens without interrupting, nodding from time to time, fear ringing on his voice when he asks San if he is okay. But he doesn’t panic. Wooyoung takes things slow and analyzes, caressing his cheek after a second, telling him that things will just go okay. He talks about his eyes after that, and San never felt this safe and scared at the same time.

“Thanks for telling me,” Wooyoung said.

“I’m sorry for putting you in danger.”

Wooyoung shook his no, squeezing San’s cheeks together. “You didn’t. Because things will be okay, San.”

“But– ”

“We’ve been in the space for one hundred years. Humanity. And nothing happened to us, nothing will,” Wooyoung seemed sure of his words, fingers never leaving his skin.

“He killed his dad.”

San bit the inside of his cheek, but there was Wooyoung again, pulling him into a tight hug. Arms finding each other at the end of his back, pressing their bodies together as that was what the universe wanted for them. San fell into his touch, and a couple seconds later, into the bed, soft blankets tangling on his legs. Wooyoung rubbed his back with such delicacy, fingers touching him like he was some musical instrument from that old journals they read together. Making music out of him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be okay, San. We don’t know what the king did in the past, yet we are still alive. We are still breathing. Worrying will only make you ache.”

They stayed like that for hours, until San fell asleep, still thinking, still worrying.

He rolls in bed, feeling a piece of paper curl beneath his fingers. Turning on the lights, he realizes is from the notebook he has on his desk, the one the scientist give him at the start of every month to write everyday – yet, San never writes, giving back empty diaries every time. Wooyoung’s scrambled handwriting is spread all over the paper. Is ugly, San thinks with a smile, confirming no one is perfect. He doesn’t care, though. Loving Wooyoung’s messy handwriting as much as he loves him.

_“It is a part of the human experience to feel pain. Do not be afraid, open yourself to it.”_ When he turns the paper, there’s more. _“We have forever. I love you.”_

San smiles, folding the note and keeping it together, pressed to his hear as he lays down. He forgot to shut down the lights again, feeling way too lazy to stand up again. So, he lets them on, darkness appearing in front of him in just a couple seconds, space welcoming him through his left eye. He doesn’t move, barely breathing, but there’s nothing weird this time. No Seonghwa, no blood, no voices.

Just the space.

For the first time on his life, San feels such sorrow looking at the void in front of him. And it clicks, somehow, at the back of his mind.

He is not the one feeling it.

Wooyoung is wearing yellow, from head to toe, when San knocks on his door. He looks like a small – very small – ball of sunshine, bare feet and glasses on top of his head, hiding in the amount of messy hair. The smile that greets him melts San, legs feeling like honey, but at the same he wants to laugh out loud for hours, because he just, looks so cute.

“Yellow means happiness,” the younger babbles after San is sitting on the counter of his tiny kitchen, bouncing his leg in the air. Wooyoung looks like a yellow twist, moving from side to side, doing something San doesn’t quite understand: changing the furniture distribution. “I read it this morning. Can you jump and help me move the couch, _sweetie_?”

San blushes at the word dripping from his lips, maybe without thinking of it, but obeys anyway, positioning himself in front of the couch and lifting. Wooyoung starts thinking where he wants to put it while they’re on it, making San clench his jaw as the thougth of couches so heavy in a spaceship don’t seem very logical crosses his mind. “Don’t call me that,” San lets the air slip through his clenched teeth with difficulty, “and please think quicker I think I’m gonna die.”

He is not as strong as the scientist tried to make him – or maybe is because he spent sixteen years of his life sitting in a couch instead of working out, muscles so soft they start screaming with pain at the bare minimum. “But you are sweet,” Wooyoung, still lifting the couch, “and you are so weak.”

“Wooyoung.”

“Over here!” He half laughs half screams after that, feet moving fast.

Wooyoung decides to put the couch in front of the big window instead of the TV, making San arch one eyebrow in confusion. “I like looking at the stars more than the TV,” Wooyoung explains, molding the cushions, “and it’s not like I spend a lot of time here anyway. I like your bed better. Have you seen my glasses?”

San smiles.

“If I find you search them, will you give me a kiss?” He proposes, eyes slightly moving to the top of his head where the glass shines in a secret greet. Wooyoung puckers his lips before jumping a little, almost like a little kid, adding deadpan, “I will even if you don’t find them.” San smiles in silence, air making his way through his chest abruptly. “Okay, what about ten kisses?”

Wooyoung presses his lips thick, hitting his stomach with one hand. “If you want to kiss me why don’t you just do it?”

“Just answer, please.”

“Okay,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes, “I’ll give you five kisses if you find my glasses.”

“What happened to the ten?”

Wooyoung sticks his tongue out. “Punishment for being so annoying.”

The way he talks is enough to make San forget a little about everything else and just focus on the boy standing in from of him. He laughs, softly reaching his arms to his head, carefully taking his glasses and placing them on his ears. The expression on Wooyoung’s face changes so fast is hilarious, going from expectation to an incredulous grin. He hits him again, clicking his tongue. “You are a total idiot.”

Wooyoung gives him only three kisses after that, but San couldn’t be happier.

For San, routine is listening to Wooyoung reading. For years, a lot of years, that’s what they’ve been doing. They don’t have a lot to do, they stay home and Wooyoung reads. San fell in love, without even knowing what was happening inside his body – inside his brain –, while Wooyoung read.

It’s weird when Wooyoung doesn’t do it, making San wonder how does his brain work. What he thinks, what moves him to do the things he does. Why one day he can’t leave the bed but others, little ones, decides to change the furniture and write on his skin, not being able to sit down for a second. San gets tired only from looking at him move.

After finishing with the living room, Wooyoung asks for help with the room.

Every pod room looks exactly the same. White walls and one built-in wardrobe, a metallic desk accompanied of the exact material chair. And a bed, of course, glued to one of the walls. There’s also a big window that gives a perfect view to what Yunho once referred to the _void._ Not the actual void, or maybe yes. The spaceship is shaped round or something like that, every room facing each other, a high cylinder of space between them.

San never liked that view, because they can’t even see the actual stars, is just metal and black. The void.

Wooyoung puts the bed next to the window, lying down right after, eyes fixed on the sky.

“I found a book today,” he stars, feet moving a little, “that talked about the starry sky. There was a picture attached and it was so beautiful, San. But I guess we won’t be able to look at a starry sky, everything is so black here.”

San doesn’t know how to answer, so he just takes a sit next to him on the bed and interlaces their fingers for a while.

“I also read about _tattoos_,” the younger says after a while, jumping off the bed, taking over another wave of energy and picking two black markers from his desk. He throws one at San, kneeling in front of him and pressing the marker onto the bare skin of his knee. He draws a happy face. “Tattoos are so cool. Let’s draw some.”

Sometimes, San finds himself thinking about where does Wooyoung read these types of things.

“Well, you already did,” San sits on the bed, smile curving his lips at the sight of the little face. “Nice design.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung smiles wide, jumping on the bed. “Take off your shirt, sir.”

San doesn’t doubt at all, throwing the white shirt on the floor and letting Wooyoung draw on his chest. It makes him ticklish – and Wooyoung laughs directly on the skin of his neck, making him a tickle mess. He can feel the thin point of the marker slid over the skin of his arm, chest and waist, but when he reaches his neck, Wooyoung stops. “I love your freckles,” he sucks a breath, placing a delicate kiss over the freckles painting his neck before pressing the marker. “They look like a galaxy, a million of stars crowded together on your skin,” he talks at the same time he draws, making San both soft and curious. “Galaxies are meant to hold stars, planets, and _me_,” Wooyoung breathes again, adding calmly after, “a starry sky.”

San feels like kissing him, and he does it. Using one hand to hold his face, fingers rubbing the soft skin of his cheek. Kissing Wooyoung feels like breathing for the first time, lungs collapsing for him, chest filling with a twist of fresh air. Bringing him back to life.

“Take off your shirt,” he repeats the same words, words hitting Wooyoung’s lips, who quickly retorts with a “I’m wearing a sweater.”

Still, he has a yellow shirt under the yellow sweater. It’s so cute how Wooyoung shows his love for things, even if he just found out about the meaning of yellow. He takes off the shirt slowly, getting stuck on his head, glasses falling onto the mattress – he pulls them quickly because “I want to see you” and, boy, San’s heart swells with a lot of new emotions.

“I like your skin,” San mumbles.

“Our skins are different,” Wooyoung notes, looking at the bare skin of his forearm. “I don’t get why.”

“You were made with love,” with a kiss on his shoulder, San drops the words directly on his skin. Soft and beautiful. Kissed by the stars.

Wooyoung snorts. “I was made in a test tube, just like you.”

San eyes wander around the tanned skin of his chest, slowly falling into the black numbers tattooed above his collarbone. Not with a simple marker, printed on his skin forever. A way of collecting every single one of them. _They_ were made in a lab, with no love. Still, Wooyoung looks like the lovely child of the Sun and the Moon. San fixes his gaze on the purple star sliding through his collarbones. He doesn’t add more, using his teeth to remove the marker cap, softly pressing it on the spot next where the star is lying. Another star.

San takes his tame, making not so perfect stars bloom in every centimeter of Wooyoung’s skin, a smile appearing on the lips of the younger. He draws on his arms, shoulders, chest, belly and, finally, making him lay on his stomach to do the same on his back.

“Why only stars?” Wooyoung questions.

San lips fall into the space between his blades, smell of soap filling his nostrils. “You are made to hold them.”

“But _you_ were made to hold _me_.”

The younger boy rolls over his body, digging his elbows on the mattress before gluing his gaze to San’s face. There’s no other connotation on his voice but the utterly belief softening, at the same time, the edges of his face. San knows little about love.

“We can be a whole universe together.”

San knows a lot about loving Wooyoung.

“I’d love that.”

Is not after a couple hours when they decide – Wooyoung _decides _– to get into the shower and get rid of all the ink on their bodies. San doesn’t mention the small sprout the drew on Wooyoung’s nape but does feel how his chest fills with a lot of unknown emotions when he walks into the bathroom mirror to see a little Saturn floating in the freckles of his neck. And next to it, a tiny figure stick, the letters “WY” under it. Galaxies are meant to hold stars, planets, and of course, Wooyoung.

San washes Wooyoung hair, using the strawberry scented shampoo. They can ask for scents. San’s shampoo is a basic one, neutral scent, he doesn’t like strong smells neither sweet ones. Wooyoung, on the other hand, changes his shampoo every month. He smelled like flowers two months ago, refreshing and ticklish on the skin. The sweet smell of cinnamon accompanied him last month, making San wrinkle his nose every time they cuddled to read because it was _strong_. Strawberries dance around right now, smell filling the bathroom in a matter of seconds. As he massages his scalp, he wonders, “why do you like these strong smells.”

Wooyoung is rubbing the ink off San’s knee – sometimes fingers getting way too distracted on his leg, moving upside down.

“I hate how the sheets smell,” he shrugs. “When I sleep, I like to think I’m not on the space, but on the Earth. I can read a lot of books and drink coffee, even though I don’t know if I’d like it. I can open the window and smell the grass, look up in the sky, _blue._ Sometimes I even go to sleep on my dreams and when I wake up here, I just need to pretend I’m dreaming. That when I close my eyes again, I will be again on Earth, smelling like strawberries and not like,” he stops, San’s fingers already froze on his head, “_sorrow._”

San bites his tongue.

“You must hate my sheets, then,” he doesn’t say a thing about the fact that, for Wooyoung, he might be only a dream character.

“No,” Wooyoung shakes his head, water and shampoo sparkling his skin, “you smell different, Sani. It makes me sleep better, without dreams.”

“Without dreams,” he repeats, fingers slowly moving back, one finger curling around the blonde tangle of hair he owns. Not white like Yunho’s, just blonde. Gold.

“When we sleep together, I don’t want to be anywhere else. I already have everything I wish for,” San takes a big breath, strawberries numbing his mind. “I wish we could sleep together during nighttime too.”

San falls, forehead pressed on the bare and wet skin of his shoulder. And, only the stars know how much he desires that.

“Why were you so happy today?” San asks, back pressed to Wooyoung’s front door, as the boy refuses to let go of him even when it is already 10:10 PM and they spent all day together – Wooyoung make him dance for hours and then, he had to take another shower because he had a layer of sweat covering his skin.

Wooyoung’s voice sounds muffled, face buried on San’s chest. He is wearing his yellow sweater, the smell of strawberries intoxicating him. “You,” he says.

“Me.”

Is not a question at all, a new taste spreading on his tongue. His hands fly to Wooyoung’s ear, softly taking his earlobe between his fingers and pressing. The boy fidgets beneath him, kicking his ankle. “Don’t do that.”

“Doing what?” He repeats the move until Wooyoung is pushing him away, pissed grin curving his lips.

Wooyoung’s cheeks paint in a soft pink after that, eyes not leaving San’s face. He is wearing San’s white shirt, skin of his arms shining beneath the white light of the corridor. It was Wooyoung the one that suggested the exchange and San accepted because he wanted Wooyoung to dream of him. Yet, the fruity scent is so strong San feels his legs weak.

“Don’t touch my ear,” he mumbles.

“Okay,” San whispers, pulling him close again. “Are you gonna reply or should I just go?”

“I told you,” Wooyoung sighs defeated. “After what you told me, I feel closer than ever to you. There’s no fear, it just makes me happy that we can trust each other.”

“Just that?”

“Just that.”

They can’t talk for more, Wooyoung kissing his cheek, rushed, before shoving San out of the pod. When the door closes, he can hear how the boy hits it from inside, voice flowing after a second. “You make my heart beat in a weird way!”

San covers his mouth with one hand, feeling his own heart, beat in a weird way.

The TV is on again, deep down the fourth week of June, people is still talking about the King. Seonghwa keeps on appearing on places, softly talking about how his father wanted to break from these metallic walls and kiss the Earth. San shrinks on the couch at how Seonghwa fakes a sob in front of everyone, just to sigh and ask Hongjoong – once again – if they can accelerate the coronation. Impossible.

It’s been five weeks since the death of the king. Only ten days to go.

After what he discovered weeks ago, San stars to act more carefully. He takes his eyepatch when he is alone on his pod, sitting on the bed or in one corner of the room, plating with the marker Wooyoung let him take with him. And he listens.

The vision is not always clear, sound getting lost at some parts, making San’s head dizzy of trying to get something.

He turns off the TV and walks into the bedroom, looking at the calendar on his wall. It will be the 4 of July in ten days. Something not feeling well inside San’s chest.

His feet find its way to the living room again, Wooyoung spending the day training with Yunho – San was too tired to walk around, or that’s what he said when Wooyoung finished his obligated cereal and made a bun on his hair. He wanted to be alone, to spy.

As he sits on the couch again, the image comes back.

The first thing he sees, is Seonghwa. He is not wearing the navy jacket, white shirt pressed to his chest, messy black hair falling on his face. San doesn’t know where they are, but it looks like a closed room without windows, gray walls and a lot of colorful bottoms behind his back. Seonghwa sits on a metal surface, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Is he watching?”

San’s blood congeals on his veins. His breath stops, gaze lost.

Slowly, the fear starts crawling through his legs, biting his skin, because _Seonghwa knows._ He knows about him. The only thing he can’t control is the wait his heart starts beating, hoping the other guy isn’t able to feel that. He is so fucked.

“No, your Majesty. He’s been quite out for the past weeks.”

San blinks. _What?_

In front of him, Seonghwa looks unsure for a second, releasing all the air containing on his lungs after a while. “Perfect. I don’t want a stupid sprout to make things more difficult.”

The man starts walking, giving the other one his back. His eyes close for a little before he starts walking behind him. San sucks in a breath, trying the remain the quietest as possible. _He hadn’t noticed me yet. _

“Are the spaceships ready?” Seonghwa asks.

“Yes, your Majesty. We have one hundred individual spaceships with one week of oxygen reserves and fifty spaceships with a capacity of one hundred persons. Oxygen for four days, though.”

“More than necessary. And the explosives?”

“We’re setting them down. All over the launch platform and every are of the Gray Side, as you asked. I think is enough, but if you have another place on mind, we will get it done before the 4th of July.”

Seonghwa twist on his heels, looking at the boy – totally staring into San’s soul – dead in the eye. A mischievous smile curves his lips one second before the sound fills the small room. “The Green Side.”

San gulps, gelid hands placing on top of his shoulders, like a wet blanket covering him.

“What about the Orange Sprouts?” The boy asks, calmly.

“They are useless,” Seonghwa sentences, goosebumps dancing on San’s spine. “Let’s them leave this world as they came: like nothing more than stardust.”

By then, San is already putting on the eyepatch and running into the room, face falling onto the bed. The shivers still shake his legs, thoughts eating his brain alive. He faces a excruciate: first, the eye of the other guy is failing, allowing him to investigate his brain without problems. Two, he has a problem.

Seonghwa is plotting to run away from the New Moon.

Killing them all with that.

San doesn’t sleep at all.

He thinks about the reason. Why would Seonghwa want all those spaceships ready? Where are they going? To the Earth? The one that’s still frozen? No, it can’t be that. San knows, by the way Seonghwa speaks in front of the cameras, that he doesn’t share the same belief as his dad. He is 99% sure the idea of recolonizing the Earth never crossed Seonghwa’s mind. Still, they are leaving the New Moon.

They are making it explode.

Why?

He doesn’t get it.

The other question that hits him, when the clock is close to 6 AM, is where. Where is Seonghwa planning to go? The space is big, and all they have was made thanks to the International Space Station and all the spaceships that left the Earth one hundred years ago. Humanity left the Earth but didn’t go further than that.

Mars, maybe? San knows is the last rocky planet, close enough to the sun to harbor life – but he hadn’t heard a thing about Mars outside what the teachers told them when he was seven years and sitting on a chair because he needed to get an education. Because he was supposed to be the one leaving the New Moon and bringing humanity a second chance.

He rolls in bed again, shutting his eyes close.

Wooyoung knocks on his door at what, incredibly, he gets to see through his sleepy eyes is 7:59 AM. The lights are already on, simulating another beautiful (fake) day, and San groans as he gets off bed and crawls to the front door. He slept only for half an hour, body feeling weak, limbs moving so slowly it’s already 8:03 when he receives Wooyoung. Maybe his body was made to survive, but he feels like dying.

The boy raises a brow. “You slept with my sweater on,” he says as a greet, jumping inside the pod, fingers slightly touching San as he walks to the kitchen. “C’mon, breakfast,” he demands, “we have to be the first ones arriving at the pool. Yunho is going too, though, so no kissing,” Wooyoung speaks fast, words falling one before the other like cold water.

San is still standing by the door, brain working so slow it kinda pisses him off, face falling onto his chest. Huh. He is wearing yellow and smelling like faded strawberries. Right. He slept with it the first night, curled in a ball, just feeling Wooyoung’s hair glued to his nostrils. But he also wore it yesterday, all day, cold sweating over the fabric. He hadn’t showered in two days, but as he closes the door, he decides to just hide that and throw the sweater into the laundry basket before sitting in front of Wooyoung on the small kitchen.

“You are not so fast today,” he points, lips puckering, changing topics as fast as before. “Why do they call it breakfast? A fast break for _what_?”

San feels his eyelids heavy, having trouble to stay awake. “Hmm, fast? Not like a quick break but a break from fasting.”

“Oh,” Wooyoung takes the clean spoon to his lips, “never thought it like that. Never thought about food at all, though. I’m not even hungry.”

San takes a deep breath, staring at him. “Then why are you doing it?”

“If I don’t, you’ll get worried,” words hit San with the strength of a blade going through his chest. He is totally right. “I’m going to eat cereal now.”

San asks for another type of break, saying he would sleep for a while more. Just a couple minutes after, Wooyoung joins him on bed, milk dripping from his lips.

It’s 11 AM when they decide to go to the pool.

“How can you sleep so much?” San asks, brushing his teeth as Wooyoung waits, sitting on the toilet with his legs crossed. He raises a brow, not understanding him at all, so San finish and cleans his mouth before repeating the question. “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “it’s on my DNA.”

“Our DNAs are supposedly to be similar, and I hate sleeping.”

“First,” Wooyoung raises a finger, “our DNAs are totally different. We are not clones. Second, you were sleeping like a baby. I saw. You drooled over my arm.”

San licks his lower lip. “I had a bad nighttime. Also, I’m sorry.”

“It was gross,” Wooyoung remarks, bouncing his bare feet then.

“_I’m sorry,_” he repeats. “You were kissing me, though. Mouth full of milk, _that_ was gross.”

Wooyoung stops to think. “I don’t think so, I liked it.”

San rolls his eyes, exiting the bathroom with a loud, “put on some shoes, _baby_.” It takes Wooyoung an actual five minutes to exit the bathroom, gaze glued to the ground.

Yunho is already floating in the middle of the pool when they arrive, wearing only a pair of blue briefs. There’s no one aside from him, so both Wooyoung and San decide to jump in also on his underwear. San doesn’t take off the eyepatch.

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung asks, resting his arms on Yunho’s abdomen, sinking him a little.

“Drifting,” the word leaves his lips with a big sigh, eyes glued on the same fake sky above their heads. San feels so related to the weird yearning floating on Yunho’s voice, imitating him and lying with his head pointing the sky. It takes Wooyoung seconds to do the same, the three of them drifting. Thinking on something they never had.

(And, in the back of San’s mind, the alarms can’t stop ringing. Is something they will never experience, the three of them having a calm time, looking at the blue sky).

“Where’s Mingi?” San asks after a while. There’s only three of them.

_Mingi is a Green Sprout. Mingi can root._

He suddenly feels nervous, breaking the serenity of the waters and moving to the edge. Wooyoung frowns at him. “Don’t act like the moon,” he says, tides surrounding hime.

San’s eyes search for Yunho.

“I haven’t seen him for, hmm, like a week. Since they took him with the Prince,” San’s stomach shrinks. “I wonder what he is doing.”

Yunho was born defected. Yet, the way he talks is totally the same as the other Sprouts. Mechanically, not feeling that worried at all. Yunho feels down, not as lively as before, but he is not thinking about how Mingi is. If he is sleeping well. If he is healthy. If he is happy. He doesn’t have that kind of feelings, the feelings the scientist got rid of the Sprouts because feelings, every kind of them, were what destroyed the Earth.

San was never like that.

He cares about a lot of things; he cares about a lot of persons. He is learning, maybe he has been learning all his life. But he knows what he feels for Wooyoung, and Yunho, and Mingi. And he feels fear, something he knows his friend hadn’t even tasted. Wooyoung looks at him with a weird mix of confusion and curiosity glowing on his face.

Wooyoung is different. Even different from San.

His brain works differently.

“What happened to Mingi?” Wooyoung asks, uncomplainingly waiting until they’re gone, leaving Yunho on his pod first. San shakes his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. I saw your face before, it was the same face you made when the Prince came,” he starts complaining then. “What do you know? What happens?”

San waits until they are safe inside Wooyoung’s pod, heart racing inside his chest.

“I think the Prince is putting the Sprout Plan in action,” he breathes, watching how Wooyoung’s eyes widen. “Taking rid of _us _too.”

Wooyoung spends all day on bed, looking through the window. San can’t do nothing more but sit on the floor next to him and wait.

Next morning, Wooyoung doesn’t knock on his door, and San runs back to his pod with an alarming fear biting his skin. Wooyoung is wearing baby blue, sadness filling his whole being and it breaks San’s heart. That was specially what he wanted to avoid.

He wants to make Wooyoung happy, at all costs. Bring the sunshine to him, or the moonlight, or whatever he can find on the space to make him warm. Make him feel so safe he forgets about everything surrounding him.

Yet sadness is stronger than San thougth, breaking through a tiny gap and rooting within seconds, roots so thick happiness is quickly buried five feet down.

He takes Wooyoung into his arms, chin resting over his soft hair.

“Are we dying?” He asks in a whisper of air. “_Soon_?”

San wants to voice a “no”. Tell him he will save both of them, Yunho, Mingi and the rest. He wants to tell him that they will be safe, like he promised. But he also wants to tell him he’d bring him the moon. And just as that second statement, there are things that is better to swallow, because they are just a wish made upon a death star.

So, he remains silent, hugging him close to his chest. Heartbeats dancing together, frenetically painfully.

Six days before the coronation, the ship is shaken by a big tremor. San quickly gets off the eyepatch, blinking repeatedly to see if he can get something. He sees nothing but black, sound ringing on his ears. The voice of the boy can be hear and, also the tiny general’s, but not Seonghwa’s. San catches a glimpse of their conversation before everything goes back to normality.

The north area of the ship has been destroyed. It’s part of the Gray Side, but it makes San so sure everything is going downhill, legs trembling as he walks to the front door. Seonghwa talked about explosives, explosives that were being settled around the New Moon. Explosives he asked to put on the Green Side. He jumps outside the pod just to find every light turned down, and when he looks at his door, he can’t see nor a green or a red light. There’s practically no other light but the one coming from the big window. He goes back to the pod; it’s 1 AM.

But the doors are open.

“You trust me, right?”

Wooyoung is sitting on his bed, book in his hands – but San knows he is doing nothing but daydream as he hadn’t passed a page in ages. When he looks at him, San can’t decipher what is he thinking. He looks sad, mostly because they’re dying, but he also looks like he has been searching for a way out of there. Despair and hope fighting on the brown of his eyes.

“Yeah,” is a murmur, but also the first he had said in four days.

San gulps, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. “Did you heard what happened yesterday?”

“A blackout,” Wooyoung repeats what the nurses told them early in the morning. “The system rebooted, nothing was working, it was so dark.”

“You know what else happened?” Wooyoung shakes his no, San getting closer to him. “The security system crashed. I could open my door.”

The younger boy opens his eyes, slowly, book falling from his hands and resting over his legs. “What are you trying to tell me, San?”

As San gulps, he tells Wooyoung his plan. Or his _let it be a plan_ of a plan.

He spent hours sitting on his desk, looking at the spaceship design on the laptop they all have incorporated on the pod but that San has no used since he was fifteen and Wooyoung wanted to listen to a really old Earth song – he had to search for hours but finally got it from the cheap website from one kid from the Grey Side that called himself a Martian. The song was “Stubborn love” by The Lumineers and Wooyoung assured he listened it on one old movie. San almost fell asleep while Wooyoung listened to it with his legs crossed and his eyes closed, moving his body slowly to the slower rhythm of the music.

The nurses say it’s convenient to have a map of the ship in case of collision with a meteor – what, ironically, was what they told them when San asked for the loud crash he heard – but for San, is just a way of showing them how trapped they are. Letting the fear act alone, without the need of actually threatening them. There’s only one door, always closed, that connects the Green side with a big corridor that ends in the launching platform. Then, the only way of getting off the New Moon, is using one of the ships, carefully designed to be piloted only by those with the King’s pass. Is useful for San now, so he won’t complain.

He searched for the labs, and after that, for the office of the scientists.

If Seonghwa wants to destroy the New Moon, he needs to have a reason, a where to go and someone to trust with all that plan. San doesn’t know the reason, more less the where, but he does know something he couldn’t forget not even in almost a month. A number. A Sprout outside of the Garden. Seonghwa’s right hand. 206.

The person behind San’s eye.

“Are you saying one of us got to ran away? And instead of living a normal life he went to lick the King’s ass?” Wooyoung squints.

“No, well, maybe. What I am saying is that if we share a vision, we must share something more.”

“Like brothers?”

San sucks a breath.

“Probably. We don’t have brothers, we don’t have no one blood related. What if it is because it makes us… share things. What if it is too much power?” He questions. “They could have taken him away, to use him. He seems very loyal to Seonghwa, maybe they brainwashed him or something to just obey him. He even knows about _me_. If we find who he is, maybe we could learn a little about us, maybe I could speak to him, or something.”

The security system is still out, what means the cameras are not working at all, that every door can be opened with just a touch. It’s their opportunity to get to know how that person could get out of the Green Side, or why. It’s their opportunity to try to survive.

Wooyoung remains silent for a while, lips pressed, just to sigh after one second. One of his hands reach San’s leg, “okay, I’m in.”

“Okay,” San says back, hands pressed to Wooyoung’s cheeks. Their lips follow. “I just want to say that this might be really, _really_ dangerous. And if we want to survive, we’ll have to exit the Garden and just…” San stops, biting his lower lip for a moment, “go out there. To the unknown. Right when they are making the ship explode.”

“I’m scared,” Wooyoung admits. “I’ve been scared since you told me. Because I don’t want to die, not yet. Not like this.”

San raises a brow, hands falling to hold Wooyoung’s fingers. He questions him with his gaze.

“It’s stupid,” Wooyoung tells with half a smile. “I just like to dream, okay? Like we will leave this place one day. Not only us, Yunho and Mingi too. But I will share my bed only with you, and we will have a small garden full of tulips. You know tulips are from Holland?” San doesn’t even know what Holland is. Wooyoung laughs, dry. “Holland was a country from Earth. The journal Yunho found, was from Holland, and it talked about tulips. I love tulips. I’m so sorry, San.”

“What are you apologizing for? I’d love to lay in a garden full of tulips while you read for me.”

Wooyoung sobs, realizing then the tears painting delicate lines over his cheeks. San doesn’t know how to react. Tears. He never saw tears on Wooyoung. To be true, the only tears he remembers are Yunho’s at ten years old when he fell while running around and scratched his knee, red blood flowing for the first time. “Are you hurt?” He blurts, hands on his arms. “Where?”

“No,” Wooyoung says. “I’m just sorry that’s not possible. That I kept of daydreaming of that, when there’s no planet to run away, when I just accepted death. I’m scared, but I know that there’s nothing out there for us. And if I have to die, I want to do it with you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you the contrary,” San breathes directly on his skin, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “But I promise you that I’d fight until the very last second, and I will save you. I will take you out of here, I won’t let you die.”

They sleep.

On the 1st of July, four days before the coronation, San wakes up extra early. The security system isn’t working – no one really tries to open their doors when nighttime falls, so when nurses came to check, they don’t say a thing, hoping no one opens the door. They don’t know about San – but according to Wooyoung, is for the best to just wait until 2 PM to sneak in the laboratory, as everyone would be eating – because they are just normal humans, with normal human bodies and normal human requests like eating three meals a day. Yet, San can’t sleep at all.

He feels anxious, hands sweating, skin itching. His heart is going so fast he stops counting the heartbeats after a while, left alone with a dry and heaving feeling on his chest, pushing him down. By the time Wooyoung knocks on his door – three short times – he feels like he is about to die.

Checking the eyepatch, he gets nothing, vision perfectly clear.

Wooyoung is wearing a white hoodie, matching his white pants, hair pulled up with a headband. They don’t talk at all while they walk directly to the labs when the time comes, maybe feeling too scared to just bite on the bubbles resting on their tongues, words dying on their tongues. Maybe just being cautious, trying to get there in silence, without no one knowing.

They reach the doors at 2:10 PM. There’s no one on sight.

San spent last night profiling the details of the plan, searching for names on his own medical record until he found the one he wanted. Someone like their leader there, the one that can possibility have everything they need to know. Who the fuck 206 is?

“Open,” Wooyoung mumbles, covering his hand with the sleeve of his hoodie before pressing the opening bottom. No security at all, as they thought.

The office they get in is pretty normal, nothing way too futuristic. It has libraries filled with thick books and medical reports, every single one of them dated with numbers. Too old, San thinks, as the numbers finish on 67 and he is number 234. The rest should be on the digital system.

On the desk, there’s a computer. Transparent, almost like the screen is floating in the air. San sits, fingers already moving over the keyboard. “No password,” he hums, “maybe this is just a normal computer.”

“Or they are so sure no one will ever get pass this,” Wooyoung breathes over his shoulder. “What is _this_?”

San stops moving, eyes fixed on the screen, now totally covered in numbers. The thing, it’s only two numbers. 0 and 1. All over the screen. “Is this a type of security?” San asks.

“I guess, but,” Wooyoung leans over his shoulder, eyes fixated on the numbers, “how?”

Wooyoung takes a sit on San’s lap and for a moment, he stops talking, eyes only moving around the white screen. His purses his lips in discomfort, thinking for five minutes before something is crossing his mind, body shaking above San’s. “They seem to follow a patron.”

“What?”

“It repeats. I think this is some kind of language only them understand, but what we need is just, _here_,” his hand moves on the screen, finger reading on of the lines first. Then another. And another. “Look at the number of zeros here, it’s like they use it to separate words.”

“I’m not understanding you, Woo,” San sighs, defeated.

“Look,” the boy insists, “when the one and the zero go together, is a word. A lot of zeros are just like blank spaces. Look, at the top, it starts with ‘**00000**10110100111010110010110001011110110**00000**’, so five zeros equal to one blank space. And if we follow the five-character thing, we have something that starts and ends with 10110. If we think of it as letters, what is a seven-letter word that starts and ends with the same one, related to _us_?”

Wooyoung looks at him, expectant, eyes shining a little, almost as if he is excited. San takes a big breath, clicking directly where Wooyoung read, a new archive opening. “Sprouts,” he mumbles under his breath, a new file filled with numbers appearing in front of them, this time, going from 68 to 988. Still a lot of numbers missing. “How can you be so smart?”

Wooyoung smiles so wide San forgets where they are for a second, getting lost in the happiness brushing his cheeks. “I don’t know how I did that, it was just a supposition. Oh my god, let’s just search for him.”

But number 206 isn’t on the list. To be true, there are a lot of holes. San can think only on one thing: they are dead. Or, on the other hand, they got believed dead, but only managed to escape.

They go back to the initial page, eyes looking through the crystal. It’s almost 2:35 PM, having little time margin to find what they want. San’s hands start sweating again.

“Here,” Wooyoung points after five minutes reading numbers, “Is another seven-letter word, but I’m not sure what could it say. Danger, maybe?”

“Why we just don’t click wherever you find a word, it be easier.”

San clicks on the seven-letter word, a lot of folders opening at the same time, images going around the room. Holograms. And what’s inside of them, what they are _showing_, is no other but planets. Habitable planets. Wooyoung gasps his lips open in surprise, eyes moving around the room, stopping one second on every picture. There are at least ten planets, no, eleven. San can see Mars, big interrogation under the picture.

Wooyoung stands up to look at the planets more closely. “There’s more _Earths_ out there,” Wooyoung says.

“I see,” San answers back, feeling the air move with difficulty.

“No, they’re moons,” Wooyoung gulps, standing in front of one of the folders. “Titan is Saturn’s biggest moon.”

San remains silent, shivers running down his spine.

“Why didn’t they tell us about this?” Wooyoung keeps moving around.

“I don’t know.”

But he got something. A where. Seonghwa must be trying to get into one of those planets – or moons.

“We gotta keep searching,” San says, even when Wooyoung can’t stop staring, eyes glued to one of the folders. _Ganimedes_. “Wooyoung.”

“I think I know this one,” he mumbles. “One of Jupiter’s moons. The biggest one.”

“Is there something wrong about it?”

Wooyoung shakes his no, finding it really difficult to snap back into reality, so it’s San the one closing the folder instead. Images die on the air, Wooyoung finally looking down, blinking repeatedly. “I think… I just felt nostalgic from all of sudden. Like you and the moon,” he gives off a shy smile before they are clicking on another bunch of _words_. Nothing working at all, 3 PM creeping on his necks, when they finally click on the right one.

Again, there’s a big list of numbers, but what drags San’s attention if the name of the folder. _Stardust._

That’s what Seonghwa told 206. _Let’s them leave this world as they came: like nothing more than stardust._

“206,” Wooyoung says, hands shaky as San presses the number. The face that welcomes him is familiar, he saw it on TV, always standing on Seonghwa’s right. He saw him the day they took Mingi with them, not even looking at him. San had him so close but for some reason, his face never crossed his mind.

Now he can see it. There’s a birthmark next to his left eye, as white as San’s own.

_Stardust project. Member 206. _

_State: alive. _

_Name: Yeosang._

Scientist arrive to the labs at 3 PM sharp.

Thanking the stars, they both made it out at 2:57 PM with a lot of new information, but a lot more of new questions. What’s the project stardust? If Yeosang is a member of it, why is he outside? And most importantly, what’s the reason behind the fact of them sharing a vision?

San is sitting by the end of Wooyoung’s bed when Yeosang starts softly speaking.

He has been looking through the window without his eyepatch, hoping for something, and after three hours, about to giving up, the boy shows up like a delicate breeze. The way his vision blurs on the edges makes San think he is on movement, but there’s no one in front of him.

“You’ve been quiet,” someone talks – San recognizes Hongjoong’s voice.

“I’ve been thinking in all the people we’re letting here to die,” Yeosang answers in a plain voice, no emotion at all flowing off his body. Almost like he is not that worried. It makes San shiver.

“We can’t take the whole moon to Titan,” Hongjoong says.

San looks back at Wooyoung, slowly so his movement doesn’t alert Yeosang. The boy mouths something at him he doesn’t gets, reaching out his hand for him to hold. Wooyoung interlaces their fingers in utterly silence, thumbs drawing circles on his skin.

“What about the Orange Sprouts?” Yeosang asks, receiving a snort back.

“You heard the _King_, they’re useless. Once we arrive to Ganimedes, we’d make more of them, actually useful ones. If we take them, do you think we could even put a foot on Titan without getting disintegrated?” Hongjoong laughs, dry, finally appearing in front of Yeosang – San. They stop in front of a gray door, numbers pressed in a control panel. “We need obedient arms, not rebel kids. It’s not like they will suffer, the oxygen will last only another month. And then,” the man twist around his heels, finally facing them, eyebrow moving, mischievous grin taking hold of his face, “the humanity will outlast another moon.”

Yeosang waits a little, nodding after that. “Half humanity,” escapes his lips.

San puts on his eyepatch again.

“What did you see?” Wooyoung asks, getting close only to receive a negative headshake before San is hugging him and closing his eyes.

Every breath sets his chest on fire. They’re running out of oxygen. The New Moon is dying.

The New Age just failed as the Old one.

For about a day, San lets the fear invade his body for the first time, nightmares kicking in on his sleep. But it only lasts a day, urge of surviving taking over his body on the morning of the 3 of July. Only one day before chaos. Or whatever. He can’t really know what’s about to happen aside from the fact Seonghwa, the generals, the green sprouts and who knows how many people are leaving. Landing on Ganimedes first, trying to conquer Titan after that.

Without them.

“Titan is here,” Wooyoung drew a map on the wall of his bedroom, knees on the table, San’s hands around his waist to protect him. The marker stops around the perfectly circular Saturn. “Is Saturn’s biggest moon. And Ganimedes, is right here,” he draws another cross, “Jupiter’s biggest moon. Both of them are the biggest satellites of the Solar System. Apparently, life isn’t possible there, because of the distance of the sun, but I read both of them have properties Earth-like. And we are here, in the space, being more artificial than human, so who’s telling us there’s no life there? Maybe it was always there, but we weren’t close enough to see it.”

San nods, feeling amazed about what Wooyoung’s brain can retain.

“The distance between both of them is, still, incredibly big.”

“But it seems like they’ve been on Ganimedes before,” San remembers Hongjoong’s words. “The general said they’d make useful sprouts once they arrive to Ganimedes.”

“Do you think that’s how they made us?” Wooyoung asks in a mumble.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, and then he adds in what it can only be described as a cry for help, “I don’t know _shit_, and it’s driving me crazy. I… I want to wake up, Woo. Because this is not what I asked, this is not the life I wanted. I wanted sunshine, I wanted rain and I wanted a house with a red roof like the ones we saw on that journal. I wanted to dance, I wanted to try coffee, I wanted to feel hungry, or thirsty or excited. I wanted love, to sleep next to you. I wanted those starry skies you love. The only thing I got is to be in the middle of the stars, but they’re all dead. Just like me.”

By now, San feels like crying, yet the tears can’t find an easy gateway as easy as Wooyoung did. He sits on the floor, fingers threading on his own hair, head in the middle of his knees. Sometimes, he feels his body is way too different from Wooyoung’s. Like Wooyoung has everything San doesn’t: curiosity, intelligence, humor changes, initiative. _Feelings._

“Hey,” he says, jumping from the table to sit in front of him. “Why are you talking in past tense?”

San shakes his head. “Because I am already dead, Wooyoung. I’m a star.”

“We are, then.”

“No,” San quickly adds, one hand on Wooyoung’s cheek. “_You_ are not going to die. I promised you. We’re doing all this just so you can have a life.”

Wooyoung pouts. “And what I am supposed to do if you die?”

“Keep on living. I bet Titan is a beautiful place to live.”

“You don’t know shit about Titan,” he says, imitating his voice tone. “And you are being irrational. Why can’t you just come with us? Why sacrifice yourself?”

San bites his lower lip.

“Because it’s_ my _fault. If it wasn’t for me, we’d have spent the next month living normally, not knowing death was breathing on our necks. We’d have died happy, or something close to that. But now? I know you are scared, that you don’t want to die. I can’t do nothing more than help everyone get out of here, and for that, I need to distract Park Seonghwa,” he holds Wooyoung’s hand close to his chest. “I will get you on that ship, I promise.”

Wooyoung looks down, shoulders shaking a little, no sound leaving his lips.

“I don’t want to be on that ship,” he spits. “What’s the point of living a life without you? I’d rather stay here and die, with you.”

“No, you don’t. The only thing I’m sure about now, is you,” San places a kiss on his cheek, standing up. “I want you safe. I’m sorry for this, I shouldn’t have lost the composure. Let’s finish it.”

_I’m _scared, he wants to say, but the words never leave his throat. They keep on drawing on the walls, Wooyoung doesn’t looking as alive as before, lips curved upside down.

San wants to take every Orange Sprout out of the New Moon, sneak them into the ships without the guard knowing. Because everyone deserves a live, even if it’s leaded by Park Seonghwa, who has no repair on letting them all to die there. San not only wants Wooyoung to live the life he always wanted, he also wants Yunho to do it, and all the other kids like them that couldn’t fit on the idea of a perfect human. Even if that means he has to die.

He heard Yeosang, launching programed to 1 AM in the morning, New Moon time. There would be explosions, the big security system crashing again. Every door open. Even the one that connects the Garden with the rest of the Moon. He only needs to find Seonghwa and distract him enough, so no one contacts them as Wooyoung and the kids sneak on the ship, green bracelets around his wrists – San plans on steal them from the lab.

Deep down, he wishes he could reunite with Wooyoung, believe the stars will lead them back to the stars as he once told him. But he isn’t even sure if he will make it out alive after talking with Seonghwa. Hope is nowhere to be found.

“Fifteen hours,” San says as a goodbye, fingers searching for Wooyoung’s hand. “All be back in less than one. Talk with Yunho and the others, okay?”

Wooyoung doesn’t reply, gaze falling hard on his face. When he speaks, San knows the reason why he has been so quiet for hours, thinking slowly about the words he just blurts.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he says after one minute, and San knows he isn’t referring to right now. It makes his heart shriek. “Forever.”

San studied where all the cameras are, even when he is sure they don’t work at all. Still, his feet move fast, sloppily, because he fears a hand presses to his shoulder. He shouldn’t be feeling all that. _I’m going to be dead in one month,_ he thinks, _or maybe in a few hours. _

He wants to take Wooyoung out. And maybe that’s the reason he drops everything into the floor when he finally finds the naïve green bracelets. It makes no sound, like everything in the space. He needs to take Wooyoung out before dying. He promised it: to keep him safe.

There’s not a lot of failures on the Green Side yet he takes all bracelets he can shove on the pocket of Wooyoung’s blue hoodie – that he is wearing, smelling like a million different flowers and home. It smells like home.

Just when he is coming back, totally sure no one saw him, he freezes in the middle of the corridor. Black eyes falling on him like a wave of gelid water. The air gets stuck on his throat as Park Seonghwa gets closer to him. He is tall, San notes, and incredibly attractive. The type of beauty that makes him weak on the knees – or maybe, just maybe, is the lack of emotion that brushes his factions. Is the fear biting his knees. _What is Seonghwa doing here?_

“Hi,” Seonghwa speaks normally, soft voice filling the place. “What are you doing here?”

San moves one step back, tongue meeting his lower lip. “Sorry?”

“This area has been closed,” Seonghwa says, making San realize everything has been quieter than normally, not a scientist on sight, not even a nurse. Everything empty. Evicted. He kind of can imagine why Seonghwa is walking around the laboratory. He is making sure everything is in order. “We got hit by a meteor, we’re out of orbit. Is so dangerous to stay here, hadn’t your nurses told you?” He lies so perfectly.

San shakes his no. He knows lies are dripping from Seonghwa’s lips, and not only because he knows the truth but also because the prince is using the same exact voice he used on the news. Sweet, calm, almost like a lullaby. It doesn’t inspire fear, it kind of makes to trust him. But San is not an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “My head is hurting. I was searching for medicine.”

“Medicine,” Seonghwa echoes, eyes darkening. “Can I see your color code?”

San’s hand is shaking when he raises his hand, orange dancing around his wrist. Seonghwa is doing nothing more but playing a game, perfectly knowing about San. Of course, he knows about San, he let it crystal clear that time he spoke with Yeosang. It makes San’s chest shrink, hopeless, at the sight of Seonghwa just breaking everything around him, remembering him that he is not making it out alive.

“Orange,” escapes his lips, so slowly San can’t even hear him, reading his lips instead. “That’s unfortunate. Is because of your eye?” San nods, legs trembling as Seonghwa gets closer, one hand flying to his face. “Is okay if I give it a look?”

He wants to shake his head, no almost slipping through his pressed lips. But he doesn’t say a thing, unable to move. Seonghwa’s fingers brush his skin, heart racing inside his chest, so fast it hurts. All his alarms activate, ringing on the back of his ears. It smells like danger. “Are you blind?” Seonghwa asks, breath kicking his face.

San’s throat is dry, words not even forming on his brain. He finds the enough strength to nod a little.

“Poor thing,” he says and for a moment, San wants to laugh. He knows Seonghwa knows, but not the other way around. Seonghwa is just trying to root the fear so deep within him he avoided the idea of San knowing about him. Is too late, fear was seeded time ago. “Life can be hard, sometimes. I promise I will give you a better life.”

Those words float around San’s mind for a long, even after Seonghwa says him to please go back to his pod and loses in the white corridors. He didn’t tell him what he was doing there and, after minutes, San notices he took his eyepatch with him. Through his left eye he can see the space.

A single tear kisses his skin.

Right now, he isn’t sure if it is his own tear, or just Yeosang’s.

San no longer lives alone, head resting on Wooyoung’s lap, body so curled he barely occupies space on the bed. Wooyoung’s fingers has been moving on his back since he came back, not words being exchanged after Wooyoung’s confirmation that he talked with Yunho and the rest and San told him about Seonghwa, not hiding anything, just as Wooyoung wants.

It takes Wooyoung about an hour to go back to the rooms and give everyone a green bracelet, coming home with one around his own wrist. “Yunho is going crazy,” he tells, hiding the fear with a soft giggle. “He can’t believe this is happening.” San doesn’t reply at all, he can’t also believe this is happening.

They watch Seonghwa’s coronation on TV without saying a word, golden crown finally touching his black hair. There’s a new king, but they know there’s not a moon for him to rule anymore. And San wonders how many people of the ones appearing on TV, clapping and crying tears of joy, know about what is about to happen in just a matter of hours. He sinks even more, eyes closed.

Wooyoung turns the lights off at 9 PM, the two of them laying on bed, facing each other.

“This last month was crazy,” he mumbles, breath tickling San’s face. “When was the last time we danced?”

Images of them dancing come to San like a blizzard, making him dizzy for a second. It seems like an eternity passed since the last time they danced together, or since the last time San felt so alive. He takes a grip of Wooyoung’s shirt, moving closer over the mattress to rest his forehead directly on his chest. Wooyoung’s arms wrap him. Fitting.

“The day you wore yellow,” San finally says. “You were so happy that day.”

“I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung shakes his head.

“I am still happy,” he continues, hand moving to rest on his nape, fingers catching the ends of his hear and playing for a while. “I’ve been happy for almost all my life. I’m sorry I could not voice my feelings earlier I grew up thinking it was wrong. But I’ve been feeling like this since the day I met you, and at first, I thougth it was because I am a defected project. We’re not supposed to feel at all, yet I’ve been feeling more than my brain can process since I met you. This last month was revealing for me, I learned everything I needed to learn, and I’m still getting there. There’s so much more I need to learn with you, San.”

San finds himself thinking about the past. About how nothing really changed on his brain in all these years of being alive, that he loved Wooyoung back then at six years and he loves Wooyoung now. That he always was the only thing keeping him alive, in a way or another, and that kisses can mean much more than he thought, tasting like different things every time (safeness, freedom, fire) and that skin can be softer that he thought, and that not having feelings is like having a bath in cold water. Wooyoung made him a better person.

Inside a ship, floating in the middle of the space, surrounding by machines insides of human bodies, a bunch of cells decided to divide in the wrong way, giving birth to Wooyoung. Wooyoung, and his head full of stars. His sunkissed skin even when they don’t know what natural sunlight is. His curiosity, his beautiful way of looking at the smallest things like tulip’s seeds and his way of remembering every single detail like tulips are from Holland. His slow way of moving, literally and figurately, taking his time, because he is a firmly believer they have forever and to rush things is to rush live.

Wooyoung, that was totally made in the stars, found San who never really knew where he belonged. And gave him a home.

“Stop thinking,” Wooyoung adds. “I can listen to you. I don’t want you to be that sad. I want to think about us, forget about everything that’s gonna happen. Is us now.”

He interlaces their fingers together. San is still quiet.

“Do you want to know something interesting?” Wooyoung says, trying to get into his mind and kick all the sad thoughts out.

And San tries, for a second, nodding against his chest.

“I took a memory from the lab yesterday. I thought it could help us with this, but it only had a bunch of basic sprout information. You know, we’re supposed to have our physiologic responses dimmed. And I didn’t know exactly why until I read everything. Did you know the limbic system oversees emotions and drives?” San shakes his head slowly, not having a clue about what the limbic system is. “Sometimes, to take rational emotions, you need to get rid of emotions and desires at all. That’s the main point of the Sprout Plan, our limbic system is dimmed. We don’t have emotions, so our decisions are more rational,” Wooyoung sighs, fingers stopping its movement on the small of San’s back. “I feel a lot, though. A lot of emotions and a lot of drives. I’ve been reading about drives. It’s funny because hunger is a drive and I don’t have it, but sex is also a drive,” he makes a pause, San still carefully listening. “Remember when you touched my ear the other day? It set my whole body on fire. Actually, when you touch me, I melt,” San stands up a little, gaze falling hard on Wooyoung’s face. There’s a blush painting his cheeks.

“I also feel that,” he says, so low it’s only a wave of air brushing his skin.

“I’ve been reading, while you were sleeping. Apparently, the human body reacts to certain stimuli, awakening some drives, like sex. But also, offspring. Dimming our limbic system, they not only make us emotionless, they make us resistant to starve, and also, they make sure we don’t feel the need of reproduction,” Wooyoung laughs, fingers covering his lips. “I find it interesting, because it’s impossible for you and me to reproduce, but yet,” he stops, gaze shyly fluttering to San’s face.

“Yet?”

It takes Wooyoung almost a minute to talk again, body standing on his elbows. His lips brush San’s skin when he speaks. “My body reacts to you.”

San can feel it, how his skin bristle at those words, Wooyoung’s skin beneath him feeling like fire. He takes a hand down, pressing it softly to his tummy, as Wooyoung closes the gap between them. Everything feels the same. The hand touching his skin, above the fabric of his shirt, the lips slowly pacing, like they have all the time in the universe to be doing that. It feels warm, but a little bit breathless, almost as if he is drowning in lukewarm water.

Wooyoung pulls him close, until they’re both lying on the bed again, body fitting perfectly between Wooyoung’s legs. “See?” The younger breaks to giggle on his skin. “Is embarrassing.”

San shakes his head, letting the air flow between their bodies, sitting on the mattress. “No, it’s not,” then he adds, only breathing over his skin, “it’s a little more human than the rest.”

He looks at him, still feeling like it’s too much, like air won’t enter his lungs anymore. And Wooyoung giggles next him, covering his face with both his hands. Wooyoung is only a few centimeters apart, kneeling on the mattress, about to disappear. If he reaches out a hand, he will be able to touch his cheek. Yet, he feels like thousands of kilometers away. He is drowning.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Wooyoung sighs, only making it worse for San. “Idiot.”

Wooyoung kicks him, not taking a lot to pull his shirt over his head and get tangled on it, glasses falling dow. San can hear his laugh, Wooyoung’s soft giggles coming from inside the shirt, heart reacting to that sound in a totally unexpected way for someone with his emotions dimmed. It’s alive. When Wooyoung finally can get rid of the shirt, his hair is messy and there’s a big smile on his face, barely illuminated by the lights coming from outside and the shining star hanging from his neck.

The garment meets the floor, hands moving to his pants.

San waits, eyes on Wooyoung’s skin, heartbeats being the only audible thing right now. Frenetic. He saw Wooyoung naked plenty of times, it never bothered him before, it was only skin. It does now, making every single cell on his body scream, because Wooyoung is undressing for him.

“That’s better,” Wooyoung laughs, crawling close to him “please look at me this way forever.”

There’s a moment of silence where San’s hands meet the soft skin of Wooyoung’s waist at the same time his lips meet his chin – because Wooyoung moved abruptly, giggles filling the room once again before kissing him properly.

“I love you, Wooyoung.”

“I said it first,” the younger remembers, thumbs circling the skin of his cheeks.

“I mean it,” San looks for his eyes. “I love you for real. It shouldn’t be happening, but I love you. It breaks my heart, but I love you. I’m totally in love with you. Thanks for letting me love you.”

Wooyoung stares at him, fingers moving above his skin, drawing on it. One of his fingers stops at his lips, parting them a little so he can kiss him again. Differently. Not moving at all, just their lips meeting again, and San feels his whole body shatter. It tastes like goodbye.

“Don’t say goodbye.”

“Wooyoung.”

“No.”

“Wooyoung, _please_.”

“No! I’m trying,” he whispers, but for San, it feels as loud as a scream. Wooyoung moves back, falling from his lap to meet the wall with his back, body bending over itself. Expression suddenly changing. “You think I’ve been playing with you? I told you, I _love _you for real. I love you the point of letting you die, because that’s what _you_ want. You can’t imagine how scared I am right now, or how heartbroken you are making me feel. That you choose _me_ over _us_. When it was always you and me. But because I love you, I’m trying. I’m trying to let you go with a smile on my face and a happy memory and you… You are moping again. You’re always moping, San. You think too much you miss the happiness around you. Why can you just stop thinking about what’s gonna happen for a second and just be with me? Why?” Wooyoung wonders, staring at him now. There are again, the tears on his cheeks, but this time, San can feel a lot more than sadness flowing through his eyes. “Everything is going to end in hours, San, hours! Everything. Our home, our life and you. And I hate it, and I’m scared, and I’ve been feeling like crying for the past days. But I swallowed all that, because years ago, when I was sad and you downloaded that song for me, I promised myself that I’d do anything to make you happy. I want this now, this moment, to be the thing you remember forever. Forget about what’s gonna happen, is just another night. We’re going to go to bed and… and then…”

San doesn’t let him finish, finally being able to breathe again, arms in the air, searching for him. He hugs him, tightly, burying his face on his skin and getting newly intoxicated with strawberries.

Wooyoung is finally crying and sinking.

“We’re going to meet again,” Wooyoung sobs, fingers scratching San’s back over the fabric of his hoodie. “Promise me.”

San swallows every hopeless thougth, “I will see you again, I promise.”

They fall asleep with their legs tangled, Wooyoung’s body totally curled into San’s arms, fingers interlaced. When they wake up, the clock marks 12 AM, but San is still on Wooyoung’s bed. The lights are totally out, the doors are open.

Wooyoung looks down at his feet.

“Let’s go.”

They put on comfortable but totally different clothes. San puts on black clothes, Wooyoung on his white pajamas, green braceleted curling around his wrist. Before leaving, he puts the orange one around San’s wrist without saying a word.

The corridors are totally empty, everyone already gone. There’s so much silence it hurts San’s ears. The only ones still there, are the ones Seonghwa wants to leave to die. “This is crazy,” Yunho screams, hands on his hair. “I feel weird on my chest, San. I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna die, I feel like dying.”

“Welcome to the club,” San sighs, holding his hand. “Follow Wooyoung, okay? Everyone,” he says out loud then, “please do whatever Wooyoung says. Be confident and they’ll let you in.”

“What about you?” Yunho questions, eyes widening.

San only smiles, letting go of his hand, starting the walk through the door. San needs to distract Seonghwa in case any of the guards tries to contact him to ask about them. Is dangerous, because Seonghwa won’t let him go. He won’t be getting in the ship with Wooyoung, Yunho and the rest. But is for the best, he needs to make sure everyone is safe and out of the ship.

The big gray doors receive them after a minute, launch station awaiting them on the other side. San still remembers the number Hongjoong used days ago, but it’s not even necessary. The security system is out, almost as if they hoped for them to just stay in bed to die – San isn’t surprised as the doors are supposed to stay closed after 10:30 PM. Who’s gonna try and go out at 12 AM?

Wooyoung stops right next to him.

“Tell them you got scared and lost the nurse,” San whispers, not even looking at him, eyes fixed on the corridor. Mentally, he is going over the map of the ship. “Go for that corridor, you’ll get to the big ships. Just ten minutes, you can make it.”

He waits for Wooyoung to complain, to cry or to go crazy, trying to stick with him. But he doesn’t do a thing aside from taking off his necklace and putting in around San’s neck. “What are you doing?”

“Is not a gift,” Wooyoung starts in a whisper. “I want it back. As you promised, come and give it back to me.”

San holds the purple star on one hand, eyes fixed on Wooyoung’s sad smile. There’s a lot he wants to say, there’s a lot he hadn’t said yet, and there’s no way he can give that back. And Wooyoung knows it. Yet, for a moment, he lets his mind drift away from reality and nods. He’s gonna meet him back. The stars promised them.

They have _forever_.

“Be safe,” San breathes.

Wooyoung kisses one of his cheek.

“Page 104.”

After that, Wooyoung starts moving and Yunho also gives him a kiss on the cheek, totally imitating what Wooyoung did. “Bring Mingi too,” he asks. “Please.”

San is left alone in the dark corridor for five seconds before everything is shaken by a big tremble.

He never thougth he would find space beautiful until he walks into where Seonghwa is – the launch zone for the generals, individual ships lined next to each other. Battle ships. He heard Yeosang on his dreams, telling the exact position of the King, and he is glad it was true.

The space is filled with colors. _Explosions._ Seonghwa is standing in the middle of the corridor, with his hands on his back, looking at it. The New Moon is exploding in front of their eyes.

They are alone.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Seonghwa asks out loud, not even moving. “You can’t hear it, because that’s how space works, but you can feel it. How everything is crashing,” the man laughs a little, head tilting in San’s direction. “The same happens to the human body, right, San?”

San stays quiet, staring at him.

“Is nice to see you again,” San can’t say the same, slowly walking into his direction, fear on one hand but totally decided to put himself above Wooyoung and the rest. “Are you feeling better? Shouldn’t you be on your bed? Is late,” San doesn’t reply, so Seonghwa goes on. “Did you saw my coronation? It was beautiful,” he smiles, shoulders moving a little. “It felt so nice, it feels so nice to finally be in control of everything.”

San stops a few meters from him, keeping his distance, but close enough to see he is completely alone. Seonghwa raises a brow at him, waiting for a reply, eyes darkening when San keeps his lips pressed in a thin line. His expression changes, eyes filled in the silent explosions on the sky, sending shivers throughout the ship.

“I was waiting for you,” he finally says. “206 told me, he always tells me about you. Are you really blind? I don’t think so, because you fear me. Why would a poor, little sprout, fear me?”

San takes a deep breath.

“Your Majesty,” he starts, taking a step forward, “why are you doing this? Why leaving us here to die?”

Seonghwa moves, totally facing him now. There’s no emotion on his face, not even when his lips are slightly curved upwards. His eyes are as lifeless as the space. “You are useless,” he shrugs, “what more? I’m trying to save humanity, San, but some things need to be eradicated first.”

“Life?”

“Emotions,” Seonghwa chuckles. “Feelings are just as dangerous as those explosives, there are only beautiful when they explode. Then it leaves you totally destroyed. That’s the price to pay, a high price.”

“That’s not a reason for everything you’ve done. You _killed_ your own father, for what?”

San is getting in danger, sinking deeper in cold water, but is making Seonghwa totally focused on him. His eyes get darker, one step closer, only a few centimeters between them now. He is scared, hands shaking.

“My father believed Earth could be recolonized. No, he desired that, even when everyone around him told him it was impossible to resurrect it. Do you ever wondered about the place where you are living? Your reason to be? We are nothing more but a project, San, something strong enough to resurrect Earth. And I thought, if we are this strong, why not using it to save ourselves? There’s plenty of available planets and moons no one told you about, places where we could be able to shine with these bodies of ours, not like Earth. What is dead can’t be saved, it’ll only bring more death. Think of it, I’m saving humanity.”

“You are killing persons.”

“You’re supposed to accept it. Sprouts are not scared to die,” Seonghwa gets closer, leaning in to whisper on his ear. “I can smell your fear, poor little _baby_. You are willing to die for another person. Can’t you see how selfish emotions are making you? They’re making you put others’ lives before your own. How could humanity survive when you won’t save yourself first?”

San can feel it before seeing or even moving, his body bending over a whiplash of pain starting directly on his side. He feels confused for a second, thinking the ship just cracked in two due to the explosives, realizing then how his body flew meters away to crash with the seat of one of the ships, glass falling down and clicking closed. A green light turns inside. Seonghwa is standing still, one leg on the air.

_He kicked me._

_He is stronger than I thought._

“You are weak,” his voice sounds muffled, coming from the inside of the ship. San starts to move, hands touching the small space, legs hitting the commands. He coughs, bending over, pain taking over his chest. “I like the fact you’re a fighter, though. If only you could stop thinking about, hmm, what was his name?” San feels how his heart stops. “Wooyoung.”

“What did you do to him?” It’s barely a whisper, metallic taste on his tongue. There’s blood on his fingers.

“I did nothing. Why don’t you ask _him_?” Seonghwa points to his left eye. “It seems you like to spy a lot. _We_ know.”

Heartthrobs.

He forgot about Yeosang, and his eye, but when he decides to look down, he can see another part of the ship. There’s blood on the gray floor, he can hear loud footsteps. Yeosang points a gun. His heart stops beating.

In front of him, Wooyoung.

“No,” voice barely makes it out of his throat.

“To think you could be one step forward me is admirable, San,” Seonghwa speaks, but he’s no longer listening to his voice. Wooyoung is looking at Yeosang, no, he is looking at _him_. “206 told me about you, to let you live. Is interesting what happens to you two, but he is a star after all. You won’t understand. I’d loved to have you with me but, controlling you would’ve been so difficult. You are so annoying. This is for the best.”

Wooyoung smiles a little on the other side. He mouths “_I’m sorry” _before closing his eyes. It feels like a dream, edges totally blurry, head feeling dizzy. He is bleeding, Seonghwa did not only hit him, he feels weak. And he is trapped, he can’t get out.

“No, Yeosang no. Yeosang please don’t do it,” he begs, still when he can’t even hear himself.

“That’s the thing with emotions,” Seonghwa keeps talking. “You carry them with you forever, hope grows on your lungs and allows you to breathe even when you’re drowning. You think death will never come, that the last time is never the last time. You fiercely believe you have forever. But right now, is when reality hits you, because you don’t.”

San can hear the gunshot on his own ears, body falling to the ground. His own, or Wooyoung, he can’t be sure. Yeosang moves his head to the sky, space being the last thing he sees before everything turns into darkness. Yeosang can pull a trigger without thinking, he always could.

“Farewell,” that’s the last he hears from Seonghwa.

Before he can know it, the ship is moving into the space, and San, San is losing consciousness.

–

_Love made the danger_

_In you look life safety_

\- Milk and honey, rupi kaur, page 104.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meredith Grey said: "Cause you never think that the last time is the last time. You think there will be more. You think you have forever, but you don't." And it made me write 26K words of boys searching for forever, without having it.  
If you like it, please share your comments! And please wait for next part because this is not ending here!   
(my twitter is @bubblesani)


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